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THE  FAERY  QUEEN 
For 

BOYS  i\HD  GIRLS  • 


FROM  E.  SPENSER: 
Told  by  A.  J.  Church 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  'AGE 

I,    The  Red-Cross  Knight i 

II.    Archimage  and  Duessa    .        .        .        .        .        .  7 

III.  The  Fortunes  of  Una i6 

IV.  Of  what  befell  at  the  House  of  Pride      .        .  24 

V.  How  the  Red-Cross  Knight  leaves  the  Castle 

OF  Pride 29 

VI.    The  Lady  Una  and  the  Satyrs      •        •        •        •  35 

VII.    Of  the  Giant  Orgoglio 42 

VIII.    Of  the  Deeds  of  Prince  Arthur  ....  49 

IX.    Of  the  House  of  Holiness 55 

3^,^^  Of  the  Slaying  of  the  Dragon     ....  $4 
XI.    Of  Sir  Guyon  and  the  Lady  Medina    .        .        .71 

^    XII.    How  Sir  Guyon  came  into  Great  PerjJi^^___,.„     .  77. 

ncnr'^""Tw9^pAeAff-«ff!0!f^^                      ...  89 

XIV.    Of  Queen  Acrasia 96 

XV.    Britomart 102 

XVI.    Of  Merlin's  Magic  Mirror 109 

XVII.    How  Britomart  took  to  Arms 117 

XVIII.    Sir  Scudamore  and  Amoret 127 

XIX.    Of  Sir  Paridell  and  Others 135 

XX.    The  Story  of  Canac^  and  the  Three  Brothers  142 

XXI.    The  Story  of  Florimell 153 

XXII.    Of  the  False  Florimell 160 

XXIII.  Sir  Satyrane's  Tournament    .        .        .        .        .  168 

XXIV.  Of  FLORmELL'sT^iRDLE '^"■■'■"•'^^'~'-' 7'" "^«"'™^**'        ^.-^-g* 

XXV.    Of  Britomart  and  Artegall 180 

2^3351 


VI 


CONTENTS 


'*^XXXVIII. 
XXXIX. 


PAGB 

Of  the  Fortunes  of  Amoret  .  .  .  .190 
Of  Sir  Artegall  and  the  Knight  Sanglier  .  197 
Of  Other  Adventures  of  Sir  Artegall  .  .  202 
Sir  Artegall  does  Justice        .        .        .        .214 

Radigund 221 

How  Sir  Artegall  was  Delivered  .        .        .    233 

Of  the  Knave  Malengin 247 

Of  the  Lady  Belg£ 252 

Of  Sir  Artegall  and  Grantorto     .        .        .    263 

F^R   CALIDORE  and  THE  LADY  BRIANA  .  .      270 

Of  the  Valour  of  Tristram     ....  278 

Sir  Calepine  and  the  Lady  Serena         .        .  286 

Of  Sir  Calidore  and  Pastorella     .        .        .  294 

The  End  of  Sir  Calidore's  Quest   ,       .       .  301 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Slaying  of  the  Dragon 

The  Red-Cross  Knight  and  Sansfoy    . 

The  Lady  Una  and  the  Lion 

Sir  Guyon  and  the  Men  in  Bestial  Shapes 

Agap^  approaching  the  Dwelling  of  the  Fates 

Sir  Scudamore  overthrown  by  Britomart 

Sir  Artegall  and  the  Saracen   . 

Prince  Arthur  slaying  the  Seneschal 


Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 
10 


20 
lOO 
142 
184 
204 
256 


vii 


M 


THE    FAERY    QUEEN 

AND    HER    KNIGHTS 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  might  have  been  seen 
a  gentle  Knight,  riding  across  the  plain.  He 
was  clad  in  armour  of  proof,  and  on  his  arm  he 
carried  a  silver  shield.  A  shield  it  was  that  brave 
men  had  carried  before  him,  for  there  were  great 
dints  upon  it,  which  were  as  a  witness  of  great 
fights  that  had  been  fought.  Now  the  Knight  him- 
self had  never  yet  been  in  battle;  but  he  seemed 
as  one  who  could  bear  himself  bravely,  so  well  did 
he  sit  upon  his  horse,  and  so  stout  of  limb  he  was. 
On  his  breast  he  wore  a  crossbred  as  blood,  in 
token  that  he  was  vowed  to  serve  the  Lord  Christ, 
who  had  died  for  him;  and  on  his  shield  was  yet 
another  cross,  to  be  as  it  were  a  sign  that  this 
service  should  be  a  defence  to  him  in  all  dangers. 
Somewhat  sad  of  look  he  was,  not  as  though  he 
had  fear  in  his  heart,  but  rather  as  one  upon  whom 
had   been   laid   the   burden   of   a  great   task.    And 


/2  ....;./  ''THE ^re^-<:ross  knight 

such,  in  truth,  there  was,  for  Queen  Gloriana  had 
sent  him  upon  a  great  enterprise,  and  all  his  heart 
was,  full  of  the  thought  of  how  he  should  best  ac- 
complish it.  And  the  task  was  this  —  to  sla^  the 
GreaLDragon. 

Beside  the  Knight  a  lady  was  riding  on  an  ass 
as  white  as  snow.  Very  fair  she  was;  but  she  hid 
her  fairness  under  a_veil^which  was  brought  low 
over  her  face.  She  was  clad  also  in  a  garment  of 
black;  and  she,  too,  was  somewhat  sad  of  look, 
nor,  indeed,  without  cause.  She  came  of  a  royal 
stock,  being  descended  from  ancient  kings  and 
queens,  who  had  held  wide  sway  in  their  land 
until  this  same  Dragon  had  driven  out  their  ancient 
house  and  had  cruelly  wasted  all  their  realm.  The 
third  of  this  company  was  a  Dwarf,  who  lagged 
behind,  wearied,  it  may  be,  with  the  weight  of  the 
bag  in  which  he  bore  this  fair  lady's  gear. 

While  the  three,  to  wit  the  Knight,  and  the  Lady, 
and  the  Dwarf,  passed  on,  the  sky  was  suddenly 
covered  with  clouds,  and  there  began  to  fall  a  great 
storm  of  rain,  so  that  they  were  fain  to  seek  some 
shelter.  Gladly,  then,  did  they  espy  a  wood  hard 
by  that  promised,  so  thickly  grown  it  was,  a  shelter 
from  the  rain.  Tall  were  the  trees  and  spreading 
wide  with  shady  branches,  so  that  neither  sun  by 
day  nor  star  by  night  could  pierce  through.  And 
all  about  were  paths  and  ways,  worn  as  by  the 
treading  of  many  feet,  which  seemed  to  lead  to 
the  abodes  of  men  —  a  fairer  place  of  shelter,  as  it 
seemed,    there    scarce    could    be.     So    they    passed 


THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  3 

along,  the  birds  singing  sweetly  the  while;  over- 
head were  trees  of  many  kinds,  trees  of  the  forest 
and  of  the  orchard,  the  cedar  and  the  oak,  and  the 
elm  with  the  vine  cHnging  to  its  stem,  the  yew  for 
bows,  and  the  birch  for  arrows,  and  the  fruitful 
olive.  So  fair  was  the  place,  and  so  full  of  delights, 
that  the  travellers  took  no  heed  of  the  way  by 
which  they  went.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  they 
strayed  from  the  path  by  which  they  first  entered 
the  wood,  nor  could  they  win  to  it  again  when  once 
they  had  left  it,  so  many  were  the  ways  and  so  like 
the  one  to  the  other.  After  a  time,  when  they  had 
taken  counsel  together,  it  seemed  best  to  choose 
the  way  which  seemed  most  trodden  by  the  feet 
of  travdlexs,  as  being  the  likeliest  to  lead  to  a 
certain  end.  When  they  had  followed  this  awhile, 
they  came  to  a  great  ^aye,  deep  in  the  very  thicket 
of  the  wood.  Here  the  Knight  sprang  from  his 
horse,  and  gave  to  the  Dwarf  his  spear,  thinking 
that  he  should  not  need  it.  But  his  sword  he 
kept. 

Then  said  the  Lady  Una,  for  that  was  her  name: 
"Be  not  overbold.  Sir  Knight;  there  may  be 
mischief  here  of  which  you  know  nothing,  peril 
which  gives  no  sign  of  itself,  even  as  a  fire  which 
burns  without  smoke;  hold  back,  I  pray  you,  till 
you  have  made  some  trial  of  the  place." 

The  Knight  made  reply:  "Fair  lady,  it  were  a 
shame  to  fall  back  for  fear  of  a  shadow.  The  cave, 
doubtless,  is  dark,  but  where  there  is  courage  there 
is  not  wanting  a  light  for  the  feet." 


4  THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT 

Then  said  the  Lady  again:  "Nay,  nay,  Sir 
Knight;  I  know  this  place  by  repute,  though  I 
thought  not  of  it  before.  This  wood  in  which  we 
are  lost  is  the  Wood  of  Wandering;  this  cave 
which  you  see  before  you  is  the  Den  of  Error,  a 
monster,  hateful  both  to  God  and  man.  Beware, 
therefore,  beware!"  And  the  Dwarf  cried  out 
aloud  in  his  fear:  "Fly,  Sir  Knight,  fly,  this  is  no 
place  for  mortal  man." 

But  the  Knight  would  not  be  persuaded.  He 
stepped  into  the  cave,  and  the  light  of  day,  shining 
from  without  on  his  armour,  showed  him  dimly  the 
monster  that  was  within.  Hideous  it  was]  to  behold, 
half  a  serpent  and  half  a  woman,  and  all  as  foul  as 
ever  creature  was,  upon  the  earth  or  under  it.  All 
the  length  of  the  cave  she  lay,  her  tail  wound  in 
many  coils;  and  in  every  coil  there  was  a  deadly 
sting.  And  all  round  her  was  a  brood  of  young 
ones.  Many  different  shapes  they  had,  but  hideous 
all.  And  as  soon  as  the  light  from  the  Knight's 
armour  glimmered  through  the  darkness,  they  fled 
for  shelter  to  the  mouth  of  their  dam. 

The  monster,  wakened  from  her  sleep,  curled 
her  tail  about  her  head,  and  rushed  to  the  cavern's 
mouth,  but,  seeing  one  armed  from  top  to  toe  in 
shining  mail,  would  have  turned  again.  But  the 
Knight  leaped  at  her,  fierce  as  a  lion  leaps  upon 
his  prey,  and  barred  her  backward  way  with  his 
sword.  First  she  darted  at  him  her  great  tail,  and 
threatened  him  with  the  deadly  sting  that  lay  in  it; 
but  he,  not  one  whit  dismayed,  aimed  at  her  head 


THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  5 

a  mighty  blow.  Her  head  it  wounded  not,  but 
glanced  on  to  the  neck  with  force  so  great  that  for 
a  while  the  great  beast  was  stunned.  Then,  coming 
to  herself,  she  raised  her  body  high  from  the  ground, 
and  leaped  upon  the  Knight's  shield,  and  wrapped 
his  body  round  with  huge  folds.  * 

Then  Una,  seeing  in  how  sore  plight  he  was, 
cried  out:  *'Now  show,  Sir  Knight,  what  you  are. 
Put  out  all  your  force,  and,  above  all  things,  back 
your  force  with  faith,  and  be  not  faint.  Strangle 
this  monster,  or  surely  she  will  strangle  you!" 

Greatly  was  his  heart  stirred  within  him  with 
grief  and  anger,  and,  knitting  all  his  strength 
together,  he  gripped  the  creature  by  the  throat  so 
mightily  that  she  was  constrained  to  loosen  the 
bonds  which  she  had  cast  about  him.  And  yet,  it 
had  well-nigh  cost  him  dear  to  come  so  close  to  the 
monster,  so  foul  she  was.  And  of  this  foulness  the 
worst  was  this,  that  she  caused  to  come  forth  out  of 
her  mouth,  as  in  a  flood,  the  brood  which  had  taken 
shelter  therein  at  the  first.  Serpents  they  were, 
like  to  their  dam,  small  indeed,  but  full  of  venom, 
and  they  swarmed  over  him,  twining  themselves 
about  his  arms  and  legs,  so  that  he  could  not  strike 
a  blow  nor  even  move.  So,  in  some  still  eventide, 
a  shepherd,  sitting  to  watch  his  flock,  is  suddenly 
assailed  by  a  cloud  of  gnats;  feeble  creatures  they 
are,  and  slight  their  sting,  but  they  suffer  him  not 
to  rest.  The  Red-Cross  Knight  was  in  a  strait 
more  dire,  for  these  evil  creatures  had  power  to  do 
him    a    more    grievous  harm.      But    he    thought    to 


6  THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT 

himself,  ''Shall  I  be  vanquished  in  this  fashion?" 
He  was  somewhat  moved  by  the  danger  wherein  he 
stood,  but  more  ashamed  that  he  should  be  over- 
come in  so  foul  a  fashion.  So,  resolved  in  his 
heart  that  he  would  put  all  his  strength  into  a 
stroke,  either  to  win  or  to  lose,  he  gathered  himself 
together,  and  struck  the  monster  with  a  blow  so 
fierce  that  he  shore  the  liead  from  the  body,  and 
she  fell  dead  upon  the  ground. 

Then  said  the  Lady  Una:  "Well,  indeed,  have 
you  carried  yourself.  Sir  Knight.  Surely  you  were 
born  under  a  lucky  star,  seeing  that  you  have 
overcome  so  terrible  a  foe.  You  are  worthy  of 
these  arms  wherewith  you  are  clad.  So  is  your 
first  adventure  brought  to  a  good  result.  God 
grant  that  you  have  many  such  in  the  time  to 
come,  and  that  they  may  be  brought  to  as  happy 
an  ending." 

Then  the  Knight  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and 
the  Lady  Una  mounted  again  her  ass,  and  the 
Dwarf  followed  as  before.  And  now  they  kept 
with  steadfast  purpose  to  the  one  way  which  they 
saw  to  be  most  trodden,  turning  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left,  how  fair  soever  the  path  might 
seem.  So  at  last  they  came  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  Wandering  Wood,  and  journeyed  once  more 
across   the   plain. 


CHAPTER   II 

ARCHIMAGE  AND   DUESSA 

SO  the  two,  the  Knight  and  the  Lady,  rode  on, 
the  Dwarf  following  as  before.  After  a  while 
they  chanced  to  meet  an  old  man  by  the  road.  He 
was  clothed  in  black  and  barefooted,  and  he  had  a 
long  white  beard,  and  a  book  was  hanging  from  his 
belt.  A  very  wise  old  man  he  seemed,  sober  and 
even  somewhat  sad,  and  as  he  went  along  he  seemed 
to  be  praying;  and  now  and  again  he  would  beat 
upon  his  breast,  saying,  ^'God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner!"  He  made  a  humble  reverence  to  the 
Knight,  and  the  Knight  in  his  courtesy  made  his 
salute,  and  said:  "Sir,  do  you  know  of  any  adven- 
ture that  a  Christian  man  may  undertake?" 

"My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "how  should  one 
who  lives  in  his  cell  and  tells  his  beads  and  does 
penance  for  his  sins  know  aught  of  wars  and  enter- 
prises by  which  glory  may  be  won?  Nevertheless, 
I  can  tell  of  a  very  evil  man  who  dwells  in  these 
forests  and  wastes  all  the  country-side." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  Knight,  "it  is  for  such  an 
adventure,  the  setting  right  of  wrong,  that  I  seek. 
Bring  me  to  this  villain's  dwelling  and  I  will  reward 
you  well. " 


8  ARCHIMAGE  AND  DUESSA 

"Willingly,'^  said  the  old  man,  ^^will  I  guide  you 
thither,  but  the  way  is  long  and  painful." 

"And  surely,"  said  the  Lady  Una,  "you  are 
wearied  with  your  late  encounter.  I  take  it  that 
he  who  lacks  rest  lacks  strength,  however  stout 
of  limb  he  be.  Take  your  rest  then  with  the  sun, 
and  begin  your  new  work  with  the  new  day." 

"This  is  wise  counsel.  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  old 
man,  "and  wise  counsel  ever  wins  the  day.  The 
day  is  far  spent;  come,  then,  and  take  such  poor 
entertainment  as  my  home  can  give." 

With  this  the  Knight  was  well  content.  So 
they  followed  the  old  man  to  his  dwelling.  It  was 
a  lowly  hermitage,  in  a  valley,  close  to  the  forest, 
with  a  chapel  hard  by,  and  by  this'chapel  a  brook 
crystal  clear.  Humble  was  their  fare,  but  the 
rest  after  the  day's  toil  made  it  sweet  enough,  as 
also  did  the  old  man's  talk,  for  he  discoursed  of 
many  things  and  many  men,  saints  and  popes,  and 
the  great  deeds  which  they  had  done.  Then,  as 
the  night  drew  on  and  sleep  began  to  fall  upon 
their  eyes,  he  showed  them  the  places  where  they 
should  lodg^  for  the  night. 

Now  this  old  man,  who  seemed  so  pious  and 
good,  with  his  long  white  beard,  and  his  prayers, 
and  his  beating  of  his  breast,  was  really  a  wicked 
magician.  So  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  guests  to 
their  lodgings,  he  went  to  his  study,  where  he  kept 
his  books  of  charms  with  other  contrivances  of  his 
art,  and  taking  one  of  these  books  from  the  shelf' 
on  which  it  stood,  opened  it,   and  began  to  mutter 


ARCHIMAGE  AND  DUESSA  g 

some  dreadful  words  which  it  were  a  great  sin  for 
anyone  to  write  or  read.  With  these  he  brought 
up  from  their  dwelling-place  in  the  lower  parts  of 
the  earth  a  very  legion  of  evil  spirits.  To  these  he 
gave  a  part  of  his  evil  work  to  do,  and  some  of  this 
work  he  kept  to  himself;  and  the  work  was  this: 
To  cheat  the  hearts  of  those  whom  he  wished  to 
deceive  with  false  dreams  and  visions.  What  these 
were,  it  is  best  not  to  tell:  let  it  be  enough  to  say 
that  they  wrought  such  doubts  concerning  the  Lady  Una 
in  the  heart  of  the  Red-Cross  Knight  that,  as  soon  as 
the  morning  dawned,  he  rose  from  his  bed,  and  clothed 
himself  with  all  haste,  ^nd  crying  for  the  Dwarf  that  he 
should  bring  him  his  horse,  rode  away  as  fast  as  the  beast 
could  carry  him. 

He  had  not  ridden  many  miles  before  there  met 
him  a  paynim  knight.  A  tall  warrior  and  a  strong 
he  was,  armed  from  top  to  toe,  and  carrying  a  great 
shield  on  which  were  wTitten  in  scarlet  letters  the 
words  ^^Sans  Foy,^^  which,  being  interpreted,  mean 
''Without  Faith."  With  him  there  rode  a  fair  lady, 
clad  also  in  scarlet,  with  ornaments  of  gold  and 
necklaces  of  coral,  and  on  her  head  a  Persian  cap 
set  round  with  crowns  of  gold.  Her  horse  also  had 
gay  trappings,  and  her  bridle  was  set  with  bells  of 
gold,  which  tinkled  bravely  as  she  rode.  So  soon 
as  she  saw  the  Red-Cross  Knight  she  said  to  her 
companion,  ''See  now,  here  comes  your  enemy; 
make  ready." 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken,  but  he  stuck  spurs 
in  his   horse,    and   rode   at   the    Red-Cross  Knight. 


10  ARCHIMAGE  AND  DUESSA 

Nor  did  the  knight  hold  back  from  the  fray,  for  he 
also  put  his  spear  in  rest  and  charged.  So  the  two 
met  fully  and  fairly,  with  so  fierce  a  shock  that  the 
two  horses  stood,  as  it  were,  struck  to  stone,  and 
the  riders  were  borne  backwards  in  their  saddles, 
holding  each  of  them  in  his  hand  his  broken  spear. 
Then  the  Saracen  drew  his  sword  from  the  scabbard, 
and  addressed  himself  again  to  the  fray.  So  did  the 
Christian  also;  blow  for  blow  did  they  deal  one  to 
the  other,  till  the  sparks  flew  from  their  shields,  and 
when  they  chanced  to  strike  home,  the  blood  flowed 
forth  and  dyed  the  earth  under  their  feet.  After  a 
while  cried  the  Saracen:  "Now  curse  upon  that 
Cross  which  keeps  your  body  from  harm !  You  had 
been  dead  long  since  but  for  that  magic  power. 
For  all  that,  I  bid  you  now  beware,  and  keep  safe 
your  head  if  it  may  be." 

So  saying,  he  dealt  a  blow  so  fierce  that  it  shore 
away  half  the  Christian's  crest,  yet  glancing  down 
upon  the  shield  harmed  him  no  more.  Yet  was  it 
not  struck  in  vain,  for  it  roused  him  of  the  Red 
Cross  to  such  rage  that  he  made  a  more  than  like 
reply.  Full  on  the  Sacacen's  helmet  he  dealt  his 
stroke.  Right  through  the  steel  it  passed,  and 
cleft  the  head,  so  that  the  Saracen  fell  a  dead  man 
from  his  horse. 

When  the  lady  saw  her  champion  fall,  not  a 
moment  did  she  stay  to  see  how  it  had  fared  with 
him,  either  to  tend  his  wounds,  or  to  weep  for  his 
death,  but  fled  away  as  fast  as  her  horse  could 
carry    her.     Then     the    Red-Cross    Knight,    crying 


ARCHIMAGE   AND  DUESSA  ii 

to  the  Dwarf  that  he  should  pick  up  the  dead  man's 
shield  to  be  a  memorial  of  the  fight,  rode  after  her, 
and  overtaking  her,  bade  her  halt:  "You  have  no 
cause  to  fear,  fair  lady,''  he  said. 

Then  she,  turning  back,  cried  aloud:  "Fair  Sir, 
have  mercy  on  an  unhappy  woman !" 

Much  was  he  moved  to  see  her  humbleness,  for 
she  was  beautiful  to  look  on,  and  richly  clad,  as  one 
of  noble  birth  might  be.  "Lady,"  said  he,  "be  of 
good  heart.  It  pitieth  me  to  see  you  in  such  distress ; 
tell  me  now  who  you  are,  and  whence  you  come, 
and  who  was  this  your  champion?" 

"Sir,"  she  answered,  weeping  the  while,  "I 
have  suffered  much  from  evil  fortune.  I  was  the 
only  daughter  of  an  emperor,  who  had  wide 
dominion  over  the  land  of  the  West,  setting  his 
throne  where  flows  the  famous  stream  of  Tiber. 
Being  such,  I  was  betrothed  in  my  early  youth  to 
the  only  son  and  heir  of  a  most  wise  and  mighty 
king.  Never  surely  was  prince  so  fair  and  faithful 
as  he,  never  one  so  gentle  and  debonair.  But  alas ! 
ere  the  day  appointed  for  our  marriage  came,  my 
lord  fell  into  the  hands  of  cruel  enemies,  and  was 
most  foully  slain.  When  this  ill  news  came  to  me, 
I  said  to  myself:  ^Now  will  I  at  least  do  due 
honour  to  the  dear  body  of  him  whom  I  loved.' 
So  I  set  forth  from  my  father's  house  upon  this 
quest.  Long  did  I  wander  over  the  world,  a  virgin 
widow,  nor  did  I  find  that  for  which  I  sought.  At 
last  I  chanced  to  meet  this  Saracen,  who  now  lies 
dead    upon   the   plain.      He   constrained    me    to   go 


12  ARCHIMAGE  AND   DUESSA 

with  him,  and  would  fain  have  won  me  for  his  wife, 
but  I  ever  said  him  nay.  And  now  he  lies  dead. 
An  evil  man  he  was,  one  of  an  evil  brotherhood  of 
three  —  Sansloy,  the  eldest ;  Sansjoy,  the  youngest ; 
and  this  Sansfoy,  of  middle  age  between  the  two."  . 

"Be  contented,  fair  lady,"  answered  the  Knight; 
*'you  have  done  well.  You  have  found  a  new 
friend  and  lost  an  old  foe.  Friend,  be  he  ever  so 
new,  is  better,  I  trow,  than  foe,  new  or  old." 

So  the  two  rode  on,  he  making  merry  with  gay 
talk,  as  became  a  courteous  knight,  and  she,  with 
much  modest  show  of  bashfulness.  After  a  while 
they  came  in  their  journey  to  two  fair  trees,  which 
spread  their  branches  across  the  road.  Lovely 
trees  they  seemed,  and  fair  was  the  shade  which 
they  cast.  Yet  was  the  place  held  in  ill-repute  of 
all  the  country-side;  never  did  shepherd  sit  beneath 
them  to  rest  or  play  upon  his  oaten  pipe,  for  all 
men  held  it  to  be  unlucky  ground.  But  of  this  the 
good  Knight  knew  nothing,  so,  the  sun  being  now 
high  in  heaven,  and  of  so  fierce  a  heat  that  a  man 
might  scarcely  abide  it,  he  dismounted  and  bade 
the  lady  do  likewise,  so  that  they  might  rest  awhile, 
and  anon,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  might  pursue 
their  journey.     So  the  two  sat  them  down 'and  talked. 

Now  the  Knight,  being  in  a  merry  mood,  said 
to  himself:  "Surely,  this  is  the  fairest  of  women; 
it  is  meet  that  she  should  be  crowned."  So  saying, 
he  plucked  a  branch  which  he  would  have  shaped 
into  a  garland  for  the  lady's  head.  Then,  lo !  from 
the  place  where  the  branch  had  been  plucked  came 


ARCHIMAGE  AND   DUESSA  13 

trickling  drops  of  blood,  and  there  issued  forth  a 
lamentable  voice  which  said:  '^Stranger!  Tear 
not  in  this  cruel  fashion  the  tender  human  limbs 
which  are  covered  by  the  bark  of  this  tree.  Fly 
also  from  the  place,  fly,  lest  haply  the  same  fate 
should  come  upon  you  as  came  upon  me  in  this 
place,  both  on  me  and  on  the  dear  lady  also  who 
was  my  love." 

Much  was  the  Knight  astonished  to  hear  such 
words,  and  for  a  while  he  stood  speechless.  Then 
he  said:  "What  ghost  is  this  from  the  world  below, 
what  wandering  spirit  that  talks  in  this  strange 
fashion?" 

Then  there  came  this  answer:  "No  ghost  am  I 
from  the  nether  world,  nor  wandering  spirit  of  the 
air.  I  was  a  man,  Fradubio  by  name,  as  now  I  am 
a  tree,  being  charmed  by  the  arts  of  a  wicked 
witch.  But  I  am  yet  a  man,  for  I  feel  the  winter 
cold  and  the  summer  heat  in  these  branches,  even 
as  a  man  might  feel." 

Then  said  the  Knight:  "Tell  me  now,  Fradubio, 
be  you  tree  or  man,  how  you  came  to  suffer  in  this 
fashion.  It  is  good  for  a  man  to  tell  his  trouble; 
he  who  hides  it  in  his  heart  makes  his  griefs  to  be 
twice  as  great." 

Then  did  Fradubio  tell  his  tale,  "  Know, 
stranger,  that  I  suffer  this  trouble  through  the  arts 
of  a  false  sorceress,  Duessa  by  name;  nor  I  only, 
for  she  has  brought  many  knights  into  a  like  evil 
case.  In  my  youth,  which  indeed  is  not  long 
passed,  I    loved    a    fair    lady,  whom   you    may  see, 


14  ARCHIMAGE  AND  DUESSA 

not  indeed  in  the  fashion  of  a  lady,  but  as  yonder 
tree  which  joins  its  branches  with  these.  Once 
upon  a  time,  when  I  was  riding  abroad  with  her,  I 
chanced  to  meet  a  knight,  who  also  had  a  fair  lady 
for  a  companion.  A  fair  lady  I  called  her,  and  so 
she  seemed,  but  she  was  in  truth  this  same  false 
witch  Duessa.  Said  the  strange  Knight:  'I  do 
declare  that  this  lady  is  the  fairest  dame  in  all  the 
world,  and  this  I  will  make  good  with  my  sword 
and  spear  against  all  the  world.'  For  the  witch 
had  cast  her  spells  over  him  and  deceived  him. 
And  when  I  put  forth  the  same  challenge  for  my 
own  lady,  we  fell  to  fighting,  and  he  fared  so  ill, 
that  he  fell  by  my  hand. 

"So  now  there  were  two  fair  ladies,  for  so  it. 
seemed,  Fraelissa,  who  was  fair  in  truth,  and 
Duessa,  who  by  her  wicked  arts  had  made  herself 
so  to  seem.  And  I  knew  not  to  which  I  should 
give  the  prize  of  beauty,  for  it  seemed  the  due  of 
each.  But  while  I  doubted,  this  wicked  witch 
raised  by  evil  arts  such  a  mist  as  made  Fraelissa's 
face  to  lose  all  its  fairness.  Which  when  she  had 
accomplished,  she  cried:  ^See  now  how  this  false 
dame  has  lost  her  beauty,  for  indeed  it  was  but 
borrowed.  Many  has  she  deceived  in  time  past, 
even  as  now  she  has  deceived  you.'  When  I  heard 
this,  I  would  fain  have  killed  the  fair  lady  that  had 
been  my  true  love.  But  this  the  false  Duessa, 
feigning  compassion,  would  not  suffer.  Only  with 
her  magic  arts  she  changed  her  into  that  tree  which 
you  see  yonder. 


ARCHIMAGE  AND  DUESSA  15 

"Now  you  must  know  that  for  every  witch,  be 
she  as  crafty  as  she  may,  there  is  one  day  in  every 
year  when  she  is  constrained  to  take  her  true  shape. 
And  on  this  day  I  chanced  to  see  Duessa  as  she 
was  in  truth,  old  and  foul  of  hue,  fouler  than  one 
had  thought  woman  could  be.  Nor  did  she  fail  to 
perceive  that  I  had  discovered  the  truth,  though 
indeed  I  sought  to  bear  myself  as  before,  having  it 
in  my  mind  secretly  to  escape,  and  fly  from  her 
company.  So  she  practised  upon  me  the  same 
wicked  arts  that  she  had  used  with  my  Fraelissa, 
changing  me  into  the  semblance  of  a  tree.  And 
here  we  stand,  banished  from,  the  company  of  men, 
and  wasting  weary  days  and  nights.'^ 

'^But,"  said  the  Knight,  ^^how  long  shall  this 
endure?  What  is  the  appointed  end  of  your 
sufferings?" 

"We  must  here  abide  till  we  shall  be  bathed  in  a 
living  well,"  Fradubio  made  answer. 

"Can  I  find  this  same  well?"  asked  the  Knight. 

"That  shall  be  as  the  Fates  may  decree,"  said 
Fradubio. 

All  this  Duessa  —  who  called  herself  Fidessa  — 
heard,  and  knew  it  for  truth.  She  well-nigh  fainted 
for  fear;  but  the  time  for  the  discovering  of  her 
falseness  was  not  yet. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FORTUNES   OF   UNA 

WHILE  the  Red-Cross  Knight  was  thus  faring, 
the  Lady  Una  was  not  a  little  troubled 
that  she  should  have  been  so  left  by  her  champion. 
Never  did  she  cease  to  search  for  him,  wandering 
the  while  over  plain,  and  forest,  and  mountain,  and 
not  one  whit  afraid,  however  desolate  they  were. 

On  a  certain  day  she  lighted  off  the  ass,  on 
which  she  was  wont  to  ride,  and  laid  herself  down 
to  rest  in  a  solitary  place,  under  the  shadow  of  a 
tree;  she  took  the  covering  from  her  head,  and 
laid  aside  her  black  cloak;  her  faithful  beast  grazed 
hard  by,  for  there  was  much  grass  in  the  place. 
As  she  lay,  there  rushed  out  of  the  wood  with 
which  the  meadow  was  circled  about  a  furious  lion. 
Wild  he  was  with  hunger,  and  was  hunting  for 
prey.  And  when  he  saw  the  royal  maid,  he  ran 
greedily  at  her  with  open  mouth,  as  if  he  would 
have  devoured  her;  but  when  he  came  near,  and 
saw  what  manner  of  maid  she  was,  all  his  rage 
departed  from  him.  He  kissed  her  weary  feet,  and 
licked  with  his  tongue  her  lily  hands,  crouching 
down  before  her  as  if  to  show  himself  her  servant. 
At  the  first  sight  of  the  beast  the  Lady  Una  was 

i6 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA  17 

not  a  little  afraid,  but  when  she  saw  how  gently  he 
bore  himself,  she  sighed  and  said:  '*See  now,  how 
this  lion,  who  is  the  king  of  the  forest,  forgets  his 
hunger  and  his  rage  in  pity  of  my  sad  state,  while 
he  who  was  my  champion  leaves  me  to  wander 
alone."  So  she  spake  till  she  could  speak  no  more 
for  very  tears,  and  the  lion  meanwhile  stood  looking 
upon  her.  Then  —  for  the  lady  was  of  a  brave  spirit 
—  she  shut  up  her  sorrows  in  her  heart,  and  mounted 
on  her  steed  again,  and  set  out  once  more  upon  her 
quest.  It  was  a  long  and  weary  way  which  she 
went,  through  divers  places,  where  there  were  no 
inhabitants,  and  still  the  lion  went  with  her,  ready 
to  guard  her  against  all  dangers.  While  she  slept, 
he  watched  over  her,  and  when  she  •  awaked  he 
awaited  her  command,  watching  her  eyes  so  that 
he  might  discern  her  pleasure. 

After  long  journeying,  in  which  they  saw  no 
sign  of  the  presence  of  man,  they  came  to  a  place 
which,  from  the  wearing  of  the  grass,  seemed  to  be 
trodden  by  human  feet.  And  in  no  long  time  the 
lady  espied  a  woman,  who  was  following  the  path 
with  slow  steps,  and  carrying  on  her  head  a  pitcher 
of  water.  The  lady  cried  to  her,  "Tell  me  now, 
my  friend,  whether  there  may  be  any  dwelling  near 
to  hand,  where  I  may  rest  awhile?"  But  the 
woman  answered  her  never  a  word,  seeming  as  if 
she  could  neither  understand  nor  speak.  But  when, 
turning  her  eyes,  she  saw  the  Hon  by  the  lady^s  side, 
she  threw  down  her  pitcher,  and  fled  as  fast  as  her 
feet  could  carry  her.  Not  once  did  she  look  behind 
c 


i8  THE   FORTUNES  OF   UNA 

her,  but  fled  as  if  for  her  Hfe  till  she  came  to  the 
house  where  she  dwelt  with  her  mother,  a  blind 
woman.  Not  a  word  did  she  say,  but  her  fear  was 
plain  to  see,  and  the  old  woman  perceived  that 
there  was  some  great  danger  at  hand,  so  when  they 
two  had  shut  the  door  they  hid  themselves  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  cottage. 

In  a  short  space  of  time  came  Una  and  her  lion 
to  the  door.  Thereat  the  lady  knocked,  but  when 
no  one  answered,  and  the  time  was  passing,  the  lion 
in  his  impatience  rent  the  wicket-gate  with  his 
claws  and  let  her  in.  No  further  hurt  did  he,  and 
when  Una  had  with  much  gentle  speech  allayed  the 
women's  fear,  they  laid  themselves  down  to  sleep. 

But  when  the  night  was  far  spent,  there  came 
one  to  the  door  demanding  entrance,  and  when  this 
was  not  speedily  given  him,  using  many  oaths  and 
curses.  He  was  a  sturdy  thief,  by  name  Kirk- 
rapine,  that  is  to  say.  Robber  of  Churches,  and  this 
indeed  was  his  trade.  He  was  wont  to  steal  away 
the  ornaments  of  churches,  and  to  strip  off  from  the 
images  of  the  saints  the  vestments  with  which  they 
were  clad,  and  to  purloin  the  robes  of  the  priests, 
and  to  break  open  the  boxes  in  which  were  put  the 
alms  for  the  poor.  No  small  share  of  the  plunder 
did  he  bring  to  the  house  where  Una  lay  that  night, 
for  he  was  the  lover  of  the  old  woman's  daughter, 
and  he  could  never  give  her  enough  of  gold  and 
jewels  and  precious  things.  But  whether  the  old 
woman  knew  of  the  matter  none  can  tell,  though  it 
might  have   seemed   that  such  doings  were  not   to 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA  19 

her  mind,  seeing  that  she  told  her  beads  and  prayed 
both  by  day  and  by  night;  nine  hundred  Paternosters 
would  she  say  daily,  and  of  Ave  Marias  twice  as 
many.  Thrice  in  the  week,  also,  did  she  sit  in  ashes; 
thrice  three  times  she  fasted  from  all  food  and  drink, 
and  she  wore  sackcloth  nearest  to  her  skin. 

Now  when  this  same  Kirkrapine  found  that,  for 
all  his  cursing,  he  could  not  win  an  entrance,  for, 
indeed,  though  the  women  heard  him,  they  were 
hindered  from  rising  by  fear  of  the  lion,  he  let  fly 
furiously  at  the  door  and  brake  it  down,  and  would 
have  entered.  But  as  he  was  about  to  cross  the 
threshold,  the  beast,  thinking  that  his  lady  was  in 
danger,  sprang  at  him,  and  brought  him  to  the 
ground,  and  so  tore  him  that  he  died,  which,  having 
done,  the  lion  came  back  to  his  place  by  the  lady's 
side,  and  watched  her  as  before. 

When  the  day  broke,  the  Lady  Una  rose  from 
her  place,  and  went  forth  from  the  cottage,  and 
journeyed  onwards  still  seeking  the  Knight,  and 
the  lion  went  with  her.  The  old  woman  also  and 
her  daughter,  so  soon  as  the  house  was  clear  of  its 
guests,  rose  up.  But  when  they  found  Kirkrapine 
lying  dead  before  the  door,  great  was  their  grief 
and  greater  still  their  anger. 

"This,"  they  cried,  "the  savage  beast  has  done," 
and  they  followed  with  all  the  speed  they  might 
use,  and  so  overtook  her.  Harm  her  they  might 
not,  for  they  feared  the  lion,  and  when  they  had 
cursed  her  loud  and  long  they  turned  back  to  go  to 
their  own  house. 


20  THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA 

As  they  went  they  met  a  knight,  fully  clad  in 
armour.  But  yet  he  was  no  knight  but  only  the 
wizard  Archimage,  who  had  taken  upon  himself,  by 
help  of  his  wicked  arts,  the  semblance  of  the  Red- 
Cross  Knight.  The  false  knight  asked  them 
whether    they    had    seen    a    lady    journeying    alone. 

"Yea,"  the  old  woman  answered,  "such  I  have 
seen;  an  evil  woman  she  is,  and  much  harm  hath 
she  wrought."  And  she  told  a  piteous  tale  of  the 
things  which  she  had  suffered.  This  done,  she 
showed  him  the  way  by  which  he  must  go,  if  he 
would  overtake  the  lady,  and  he,  having  thanked 
her  with  due  courtesy,  rode  on.  Nor  was  it  long 
before  he  overtook  the  Lady  Una,  for  she,  having 
but  an  ass  for  her  steed,  travelled  slowly.  When 
she  saw  him,  and  noted  the  Red  Cross  on  his  shield 
and  the  like  emblem  on  his  breast,  she  said  to 
herself:  "Now  God  be  thanked,  I  see  my  true 
champion  again,"  and  she  rode  to  meet  him,  and 
greeted  him  with  friendly  words,  saying:  "Where 
have  you  been  these  weary  days,  my  lord?  I  have 
fared  ill  without  your  company,"  and  she  told  him 
of  all  the  troubles  and  dangers  through  which  she 
had  passed. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  false  knight  spoke  her 
fair:  "For  this  cause  I  left  you,  dearest  lady,  that 
I  might  seek  an  adventure  of  which  Archimage 
told  me,  and  how  I  might  deal  with  a  felon  who 
had  done  great  harm  to  many  gallant  knights. 
And,  indeed,  I  did  deal  with  him,  so  that  he  shall 
hurt  such  knights  no  more.     I  pray  you,  fair  lady. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA  21 

to  pardon  me  that  I  left  you  awhile,  even  for  such 
cause,  and  to  take  me  once  more  as  your  faithful 
servant  and  champion." 

So  the  two  rode  on  together.  They  had  not 
travelled  many  miles  when  they  saw  coming  to 
them,  riding  at  the  full  speed  of  his  horse  a  knight 
fully  armed.  When  he  came  near  they  saw  that 
he  was  a  man  of  very  fierce  aspect,  and  that  he 
carried  on  his  shield  the  name  Sansloy.  Fierce 
as  he  was  of  look,  he  grew  fiercer  yet  when  he 
perceived  the  false  knight's  shield,  how  it  had  the 
badge  of  the  Red  Cross.  Not  a  word  did  he 
speak,  but  he  laid  his  spear  in  rest  and  rode 
fiercely  forward. 

Sorely  dismayed  was  Archimage,  and  loath  to 
meet  the  stranger  in  battle,  for,  indeed,  he  was 
not  used  to  bearing  arms.  Yet  could  he  not 
hold  back  for  very  shame.  The  Lady  Una  also 
looked  at  him  that  he  should  bear  himself  bravely. 
But  it  fared  ill  with  him,  and,  indeed,  it  would  have 
fared  worse  but  that  his  steed,  being  no  less 
timorous  than  himself,  held  back  in  the  onset,  so 
that  the  shock  of  their  meeting  was  the  less  fierce. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  thrown  to  the  ground,  where 
he  lay  helpless  and  without  defence. 

The  strange  knight  leapt  lightly  from  his  horse, 
and  made  as  though  he  would  have  slain  his  ad- 
versary. *'Ha!"  he  cried,  "so  he  that  slew  the 
brave  knight  Sansfoy,  my  brother,  has  come  by 
his  deserts.  Sansfoy  he  slew,  and  by  Sansloy  he 
shall  be  slain!'* 


22  THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA 

Then  he  began  to  unlace  the  man's  helmet  as 
he  lay  upon  the  ground,  but  the  Lady  Una  cried, 
"Oh,  Sir  Knight,  hold  your  hand;  is  it  not  enough 
that  you  have  vanquished  him?  He  lies  there  at 
your  mercy.  Therefore  have  mercy  upon  him. 
Verily  there  is  not  in  the  whole  world  a  truer 
knight  than  he.'*  But  the  stranger  had  no  mind 
to  hold  his  hand,  for,  indeed,  he  had  no  compassion 
within  his  heart.  But  when  he  had  ended  the 
unlacing  of  the  helmet,  and  was  now  ready  to  strike, 
he  saw  the  hoary  head  and  wrinkled  face  of  Archi- 
mage,  and  cried:  "What  is  this  that  I  see, 
Archimage,  luckless  sire  ?  By  what  ill-fortune 
have  you  come  across  me  in  this  fashion  ?  Is 
the  fault  with  me  or  with  you,  that  I  should 
have  dealt  with  a  friend  as  though  he  .were  an 
enemy  ?  " 

So  he  spake,  but  not  a  word  did  the  wizard 
answer.  He  lay  in  a  swoon,  and  the  shadow  of 
death  was  on  his  face.  And  now  the  Lady  Una 
had  come  and  was  looking  into  the  old  man's  face: 
Sore  dismayed  she  was  and  sore  vexed;  for  he 
whom  she  had  taken  for  her  champion  was  a  de- 
ceiver; nor  could  she  divine  how  she  might  escape 
from  the  hand  of  this  paynim  knight.  And  now 
she  had  to  bear  yet  another  grief.  For  when 
Sansloy  laid  a  rude  hand  upon  her  and  bade  her 
descend  from  her  steed,  and  caught  away  her  veil 
that  he  might  look  upon  her  face,  the  lion,  not 
enduring  to  see  his  mistress  so  handled  and  treated, 
sprang   at    the    knight,    but    alas !  what   was    he    to 


THE  FORTUNES  OF   UNA 


23 


withstand  a  knight  clad  in  armour  of  proof,  with 
spear  and  sword?  Soon  did  Sansloy  thrust  him 
through  with  the  iron  point,  so  that  the  faithful 
beast  fell  dead  upon  the  ground,  and  the  lady  was 
left  helpless  and  without  defence.  - 


^  CHAPTER   IV 

OF  WHAT  BEFELL   AT   THE  HOUSE   OF   PRIDE 

THE  Red-Cross  Knight  rode  on  with  the  false 
Fidessa,  not  knowing  that  she  was  indeed 
the  witch  Duessa,  who  had  changed  the  unhappy 
Fradubio  into  a  tree.  After  a  while  they  came  to 
a  road  which  was  manifestly  much  frequented  of 
men,  and  following  this  beheld  before  them  a  very 
stately  palace.  "Come,"  said  Duessa,  "let  us  seek 
shelter  here,  for  I  am  weary  with  my  journeying 
and   the  day  is  far  spent." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  very  noble  house,  cunningly 
built  of  bricks  laid  artfully  together  without  mortar. 
It  had  very  lofty  walls,  but  they  were  as  slight  as 
they  were  high,  overlaid  with  shining  gold,  with 
many  towers  rising  from  them,  and  goodly  galleries 
disposed  among  them,  and  spacious  windows.  No 
one  could  blame  the  skill  of  the  architect  that  had 
planned  it,  or  of  the  builders  that  had  raised  it  up, 
so  fair  it  was  to  look  upon;  yet  it  was  passing 
strange  that  it  had  been  built  in  a  place  so  ill 
chosen,  to  wit,  upon  a  sandy  hill,  so  that  the 
foundations  were  ever  slipping  away  from  it;  and 
when  the  winds  blew  upon  it  it  was  shaken  most 
perilously,    and    the   lower   parts,    for   all   that   they 

24 


WHAT  BEFELL  AT   THE  HOUSE  OF  PRIDE      25 

were  painted  so  as  to  make  a  very  brave  show,  were 
ruinous  and  old. 

They  passed  by  the  porter,  whose  name  was 
Malvenu,  which  being  interpreted  is  "111  come," 
without  challenge,  and  so  came  into  the  hall.  This 
was  right  richly  arrayed  with  arras  and  cloth-of-  ^ 
gold,  and  was  filled  from  end  to  end  with  a  great 
crowd  of  people  of  all  sorts  and  degrees,  waiting, 
all  of  them,  for  a  sight  of  the  lady  of  the  house. 
These  also  they  passed,  as  being  guests  to  whom 
special  honour  was  due,  and  so  were  brought  into 
the  presence  of  the  lady,  where  she  sat  with  as  fair 
and  richly-clad  a  company  of  knights  and  dames 
about  her  as  ever  was  seen  upon  the  earth.  High 
on  a  throne,  splendid  in  royal  robes  and  ornaments 
of  gold  and  jewels  costly  beyond  all  count,  sat  the 
lady.  Fair  she  was,  so  fair  that  throne  and  robes 
and  gold  and  gems  were  as  nothing  in  comparison 
with  her  beauty.  Under  her  feet  was  a  great, 
dragon,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  shining  mirror 
of  brass,  and  her  name  was  Lucifera.  She  was, 
indeed,  the  Queen  of  Pride,  and  all  her  brave  show 
was  a  false  seeming,  and  her  kingdom  a  kingdom  of 
unrighteousness. 

The  Knight,  not  knowing  what  the  lady  truly 
was,  and  false  Duessa,  to  whom  all  these  things 
were  well  pleasing,  being  introduced  by  a  certain 
usher  of  the  court.  Vanity  by  name,  bowed  them- 
selves low  before  the  throne.  And  the  Knight 
said,  "Lady,  we  are  come  to  see  your  royal  state, 
and    to    prove    the    report    of    your    great    majesty 


26      WHAT  BEFELL  AT  THE  HOUSE  OF  PRIDE 

which  has  gone  through  all  the  world."  "I  thank 
you,"  said  the  lady,  but  in  a  disdainful  way,  for 
she  did  not  so  much  as  cast  her  eyes  upon  them, 
nor  did  she  bid  them  rise.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
knights  and  ladies  set  themselves  with  much  hearti- 
ness to  entertain  the  new-comers.  The  knights 
were  right  glad  to  welcome  among  them  a  companion 
so  fair  and  so  stalwart,  and  to  the  dames  the  false 
Duessa  was  well  known.  Nevertheless  the  Knight 
was  but  ill  pleased  that  the  Lady  Lucifera  should  show 
such  scant  courtesy  to  a  stranger.  "She  is  overproud," 
he  thought  to  himself,  "and  there  is  too  much  of  vain 
show  in  these  her  surroundings." 

While  he  was  thus  thinking,  the  lady  rose  sud- 
denly from  her  place,  and  said  that  she  would  ride 
abroad,  and  bade  call  for  her  coach.  A  stately 
coach  it  was,  Hke  to  that  which,  as  it  was  said  of 
old.  Queen  Juno  rode  with  six  peacocks,  spreading 
out  great  starry  tails,  for  horses.  Six  steeds  had 
this  Queen  also,  but  they  were  but  ill  matched,  and 
on  each  of  them  did  ride  one  of  the  six  counsellots 
who  advised  her  in  affairs  of  state,  and  the  six  were 
Idleness,  and  Gluttony,  and  Lust,  and  Avarice,  and 
Envy,  and  Anger.  The  false  Duessa  followed  close 
after  the  Lady  Lucifera,  for  she  was  of  a  kindred 
spirit,  but  the  Knight,  though  he  knew  not  all  the 
truth,  yet  held  aloof  from  the  rout,  not  liking  their 
company.  When  they  had  tarried  awhile  in  the 
fields,  breathing  the  fresh  air  of  the  country-side, 
they  turned  back  to  the  palace.  There  they  found 
a  Saracen  knight  newly  come,   who  carried  on  his 


WHAT  BEFELL  AT    THE  HOUSE   OF  PRIDE     27 

shield  the  name  Sansjoy,  He  was  ill-favoured  and 
ill-conditioned,  as  one  who  bore  a  grudge  against 
his  fellows.  But  when  he  saw  how  the  page  of  the 
Red-Cross  Knight  carried  a  shield  on  which  was 
written  the  name  of  Sansfoy,  then  was  he  filled  with 
fury,  and  sprang  upon  the  lad  and  wrenched  it  from 
him,  which  the  Red-Cross  Knight  perceiving,  being 
ill  content  so  to  lose  the  trophy  which  he  had  won 
in  fair  fight,  ran  at  the  Saracen,  and  recovered  that 
which  was  his  own.  Already  had  they  drawn  their 
swords  to  fight  out  their  quarrel  hand  to  hand, 
when  the  Queen  Lucifera  interposed  her  high  com- 
mand: *^Sirs,"  she  said,  **I  command  you  on  pain 
of  my  high  displeasure  to  forbear.  To-morrow,  if 
you  will,  you  shall  prove  in  fair  fight  to  whom  this 
shield,  for  which  I  perceive  you  contend,  in  right 
belongs.     Meanwhile  I  bid  you  be  at  peace." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  noble  Queen,"  said  the 
Saracen,  "for  that  I  have  thus  broken  the  peace 
of  your  court;  in  truth  I  could  not  refrain  myself 
when  I  saw  this  false  knight  possessing  the  shield 
of  the  brave  Sansfoy,  whom  he  slew  not  in  fair 
fight,  but  by  magic  arts,  ay,  and  not  possessing  it 
only,  but  that  he  might  do  it  dishonour,  command- 
ing that  it  should  be  pubhcly  borne."  .So  spake 
Sansjoy,  but  the  Red-Cross  Knight  said  nothing; 
he  was  a  man  of  deeds,  not  of  words.  Only  he 
threw  his  gauntlet  on  the  ground,  to  be  a  pledge 
that  he  would  meet  his  adversary  in  the  field. 

Then,  for  evening  was  now  come,  all  sat  down 
to   the   banquet.     Right   royally  did   they  feast,    for 


28      WHAT  BEFELL  AT   THE  HOUSE  OF  PRIDE 

Gluttony  was  steward  that  night,  and  ordered  their 
meat  and  drink;  and  when  they  had  feasted  to  the 
full,  they  betook  themselves  to  their  beds,  and 
Sloth  was  their  chamberlain.  But  before  she 
slept  Duessa  made  Sansjoy  aware  that  she  was  no 
friend  to  the  Red-Cross  Knight. 


1/ 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW  THE  RED-CROSS   KNIGHT  LEAVES   THE   CASTLE 
OF   PRIDE 

IT  is  ever  the  way  with  noble  hearts,  that  they 
cannot  rest  till  they  have  ^  fully  accomplished 
that  which  they  purpose  to  do.  So  all  night  long 
the  Red-Cross  Knight  considered  with  himself 
how  he  should  most  wisely  bear  himself  in  the 
morrow's  fight,  and  so  considering  he  waited  till 
the  morning  light  should  shine  upon  the  earth. 
So  soon  therefore  as  the  sun  appeared  in  the  sky 
he  rose  from  his  bed,  and  arrayed  himself  in  his 
armour,  making  ready  for  his  combat  with  the 
Saracen.  This  done,  he  descended  into  the  castle 
hall,  where  there  was  already  gathered  a  great 
crowd  of  men,  who  had  come  to  see  what  the 
issue  of  the  day  should  be.  There  were  musicians 
making  melody  on  harps  and  viols,  and  bards  who 
were  ready  to  celebrate  in  s®ng  the  strength  and 
valour  of  him  who  should  win  the  victory.  After 
him  by  no  great  space  of  time  came  the  Saracen, 
clad  in  chain  armour.  Fierce  was  his  look,  as 
though  he  would  strike  fear  into  his  adversary,  but 
the  Knight  was  of  a  temper  which  no  looks  could 
dismay.    Then   the    pages   brought   in   two   cups   of 

29 


30     THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  LEA  VES  THE  CASTLE 

wine  from  Greece,  and  mingled  therein  spices  from 
farthest  India,  for  such  was  the  custom  of  the 
place.  It  was  to  kindle  the  champions'  courage 
forsooth,  but  neither  Christian  nor  Saracen,  I  take 
it,  had  need  of  such  encouragement.  And  as  they 
drank  they  sware  a  solemn  oath  that  they  would 
duly  observe  the  laws  of  honourable  war. 

This  done,  the  Queen  Lucifera  came  with  a 
great  train  of  knights  and  ladies,  and  took  her  seat 
upon  the  throne  which  had  been  set  for  her  with 
a  great  canopy  over  it.  Before  her  was  an  open 
space,  railed  in  on  every  side,  that  none  should  be 
near  either  to  help  or  to  hinder  the  champions. 
Over  against  the  Queen  was  set  another  throne, 
of  less  account  and  dignity.  On  this  was  set  false 
Duessa.  And  on  a  tree  hard  by  was  hung  the 
shield  of  Sansfoy,  and  a  laurel  crown  which 
should  be  the  conqueror's  meed. 

And  now  was  heard  the  shrill  note  of  a  trumpet, 
and  the  two  champions  addressed  themselves  to 
the  battle.  Each  man  carried  his  shield  on  bis 
left  arm,  and  took  his  sword  in  his  right  hand,  for 
such  was  the  order  of  the  fight,  that  for  a  speedier 
issue  they  should  lay  aside  their  spears  and  take 
at  once  their  swords.  Both  knights  were  sturdy 
and  brave,  and  long  they  fought  without  advantage 
gained.  Stroke  was  answered  with  stroke,  while 
the  sparks  flew  from  either  shield,  and  each  helmet 
showed  the  dints  where  the  steel  had  been  well- 
nigh  broken  through.  Neither  did  this  champion 
or    that    escape    without   harm,    for    the    blood    was 


THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  LEA  VES  THE  CASTLE    31 

seen  to  flow  out  and  dye  their  coats  of  mail,  but 
neither  suffered  such  a  wound  as  to  hinder  him 
from  the  fight,  nor  did  the  crowd  that  watched 
them  know  which  would  prevail.  And  now  it 
chanced  that  the  Saracen,  as  he  shifted  his  place, 
caught  the  sight  of  his  brother's  shield,  where  it 
hung  upon  the  tree,  to  be  the  conqueror's  prize. 
The  sight  stirred  him  to  a  double  rage:  "Ah! 
brpther,"  he  cried,  "dost  thou  sit  so  long  by  that 
dark  lake  of  death  the  while  thy  shield  hangs  here 
to  be  the  prize  of  victory?  Go,  caitiff,"  so  he 
cried,  as  he  turned  him  to  the  Red-Cross  Knight, 
"go  and  tell  him  that  I  have  redeemed  his  shield 
from  shame."  And  as  he  spoke,  he  smote  upon 
the  crest  of  the  Knight  a  mightier  stroke  by  far 
than  he  had  ever  dealt.  Twice  did  the  Knight 
reel  as  he  stood;  twice  was  he  ready  to  fall;  while 
all  that  watched  were  assured  that  the  battle  was 
indeed  won  and  lost,  and  the  false  Duessa  cried 
aloud:  "Well  done,  Sansjoy;  the  shield  is  yours, 
and  I  and  all."  But  when  the  Knight  heard  the 
voice  of  the  lady  —  for  he  knew  not  yet  her  true 
quality  —  he  raised  himself  from  his  swoon,  and 
his  faith  that  had  waxed  weak  grew  strong  again, 
and  the  chill  departed  from  his  limbs.  Wrath  and 
shame  and  love  wrought  such  new  strength  within 
him,  that  he  struck  his  foe  with  a  stroke  so 
mighty  that  it  brought  hirn  to  his  knee.  "Ah! 
thou  miscreant,"  he  cried,  "go  now  and  take  your- 
self your  message  to  this  dear  brother,  and  tell 
him  that  the  conqueror  has  his  shield."     But  when 


32     THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  LEA  VES  THE  CASTLE 

he  would  have  dealt  yet  another  blow,  and  so 
ended  the  fight  beyond  all  doubt,  lo !  there  was  a 
dark  cloud  over  all  the  place,  and  the  Saracen 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  called  him  aloud, 
but  there  came  no  answer.  The  darkness  had 
swallowed  him  up.  Then  the  false  Duessa  came 
down  from  her  seat  and  entreated  him  with  many 
words:  *^0  most  valiant  Knight  that  ever  lady 
chose  for  her  champion,  abate  now  your  rage; 
your  adversary  Hes  low;  be  content  with  your 
victory."  But  not  one  whit  was  his  wrath 
diminished;  willingly  would  he  have  driven  his 
sword-hilt  deep  into  the  body  of  his  enemy,  so 
finishing  his  work.  But  nowhere  could  he  espy 
him.  While  he  stood  wondering,  the  trumpets 
sounded  again,  now  with  a  note  of  victory,  and 
heralds  came  and  paid  him  homage,  making  low 
obeisance  to  him,  and  giving  into  his  hands  the 
shield.  After  this  they  took  him  to  the  Queen, 
where  she  sat  upon  her  throne;  and  he,  bending 
his  knee  before  her,  made  proffer  of  his  service, 
which  she  accepted  with  much  courtesy  of  thanks. 
This  done,  she  returned  to  the  palace,  having  the 
Knight  by  her  side,  the  people  following  with  loud 
shouts  and  much  rejoicing. 

And  now,  because  his  wounds  were  many  —  for 
not  without  much  cost  of  pain  had  he  won  this 
victory  —  they  laid  him  in  a  bed  and  bound  up  his 
hurts,  pouring  in  oil  and  wine,  the  while  the 
musicians  made  sweet  music  to  comfort  him  in  his 
sickness.    While    he    thus    lay,    Duessa    resorted  to 


i 

THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  LEA  VES  THE  CASTLE    33 

a  certain  witch  of  whom  she  had  knowledge,  and 
told  her  of  how  the  Christian  Knight  had  slain 
S^nsfoy,  and  now  had  stricken  Sansjoy  well-nigh 
to  death,  and  prayed  her  help.  So  the  two  re- 
turned together  to  where  the  Saracen  lay,  still 
covered  with  the  magic  cloud.  They  bound  up 
his  wounds,  and  laid  him  in  the  witch's  car,  and 
carried  him  to  hell  to  the  dwelling  of  ^Esculapius. 
Now  this  ^sculapiuswas  a  great  physician  in  the 
days  of  old,  aTndTiecause' he  had  brought  to  life  again 
a  certain  man  who  had  been  unjustly  slain  he  had 
suffered  grievous  punishment.  He  could  not  die, 
for  he  was  of  immortal  race,  but  he  had  been  struck 
down  to  hell  with  a  thunderbolt.  There  he  had 
lain,  age  after  age,  striving,  if  it  might  be,  to  heal 
his  own  hurts.  To  him,  therefore,  the  witch  and 
Duessa  brought  Sansjoy,  and  prayed  him  that  he 
would  recover  him  of  his  deadly  hurt.  '^Nay, 
nay,"  said  he,  *'you  ask  what  may  not  be.  You 
tempt  me  to  do  again  the  very  thing  for  which  I  suffer 
all  this  pain.  Shall  I  again,  with  a  like  deed,  renew 
the  wrath  of  him  that  so  dealt  with  me?" 

The  witch  made  answer:  ^^What  more  can  you 
suffer  than  you  have  suffered  already?  You  hope 
for  nothing;  what  then  should  you  fear?  You  are 
in  this  lowest  deep;  is  there  a  lower  to  which  you 
can  fall?  Deny  not  my  prayer;  rather  show  the 
power  which  has  given  you  your  great  renown  in 
heaven  and  on  earth  and  in  hell  itself." 

''Be  it  so,"  he  said.  So  they  brought  the 
knight,  and    the   great   physician  used    all    his   arts, 


34     THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT  LEA  VES  THE  CASTLE 

applying  to  the  man's  wound  all  the  healing  powers 
that  he  knew.  Then  Duessa,  having  accomplished 
her  purpose,  so  far  as  it  might  be  done,  journeyed 
back  to  the  Palace  of  Pride,  but  when  she  came 
thither  she  found  that  the  Red-Cross  Knight  had 
departed. 

Now  the  cause  of  his  going  was  this.  He  was 
not,  indeed,  fit  for  travel,  nor  had  his  wounds  been 
duly  healed,  but  he  might  not  stay,  having  heard 
what  his  faithful  Dwarf  had  told  him;  and  the  thing 
was  this,  that  there  were  dungeons  beneath  this  fair 
castle,  with  all  its  splendid  furnishing,  in  which  lay 
a  crowd  of  prisoners  in  most  miserable  plight,  men 
of  the  old  times  and  of  the  new,  such  as  were 
Nimrod  the  great  hunter,  and  the  lords  of  Babylon 
and  Nineveh,  and  great  chiefs  of  Rome,  all  who  by 
wicked  pride  had  sinned  against  God  and  man. 
This  had  the  watchful  Dwarf  espied.  And  when 
the  Knight  heard  the  tale  he  would  tarry  no  longer, 
but  that  very  hour,  while  it  was  yet  dark,  for  it 
would  have  gone  ill  with  him  had  he  been  espied, 
he  fled  from  the  castle.  By  a  bye- way  he  fled,  and 
lo !  it  was  so  full  of  the  corpses  of  men  that  he  and 
the  Dwarf  could  scarce  make  their  way,  for  though 
the  castle  was  fair  in  all  its  public  parts,  those  that 
were  secret  were  foul  beyond  all  thinking. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LADY  UNA  AND  THE  SATYRS 

THOUGH  the  wizard  Archimage  was  an  ill  com- 
panion for  the  Lady  Una,  yet  was  Sansloy,  by 
whom  he  was  overthrown,  a  worse.  They  had  not 
travelled  together  far  when  he  said,  "Lady,  deign, 
I  pray  you,  to  show  me  that  fair  face  of  yours.  I 
would  fain  know  for  whom  I  have  done  battle. 
Yours,  I  ween,  is  such  beauty  as  the  old  villain 
whom  I  overthrew  was  not  worthy  to  take  in 
charge."  And  when  she  answered  him  not  a  word, 
he  stretched  forth  a  lawless  hand,  and  would  have 
torn  the  veil  from  her  face.  Then  she  cried  aloud. 
^^Ay,"  said,  he,  "cry  if  you  will;  there  is  none  'to 
help  you  here."  But  even  while  he  spoke  there 
came  running  out  of  the  wood,  which  was  hard  by, 
a  great  multitude  of  strange  creatures,  fauns  and 
satyrs,  half  man  and  half  beast.  They  were 
dancing  and  making  merry  in  the  forest,  which  is 
their  natural  dwelling-place,  and  when  they  heard 
the  cry,  one  said  to  another:  "This  is  the  cry  of 
some  mortal  in  distress,  and  it  has  the  note  of  a 
woman's  voice;  let  us  see  what  is  the  cause."  So 
they  made  all  haste  to  the  place  from  which  the 
cry  came.     And  when  the  Saracen  beheld  them  he 

35 


36  THE  LADY   UNA    AND   THE  SATYRS 

was  sore  afraid.  Such  creatures  he  had  never  seen 
in  all  his  life;  so  he  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  fled 
as  fast  as  he  could.  Nor,  indeed,  was  the  Lady 
Una  wholly  quit  of  her  fears.  So  it  may  chance 
that  when  a  wolf  carries  off  a  lamb,  and  drops  it  for 
fear  of  a  Hon,  the  lamb  may  be  in  no  better  case. 
But  when  the  strange  creatures  saw  by  the  lady's 
face  that  she  was  sore  afraid,  they  tried  to  show 
their  goodwill  towards  her;  they  threw  themselves 
upon  the  ground  and  kissed  her  feet,  and  sought  to 
show  her  that  they  were  her  dutiful  servants.  So, 
gathering  courage,  she  raised  herself  from  the  earth 
on  which  she  had  thrown  herself  in  fear  and  distress, 
and  made  signs  that  she  would  go  with  them.  So 
they  led  her  through  the  wood,  dancing  and  shouting 
and  singing;  and  some  strewed  branches  of  trees 
on  the  ground  before  her,  and  one,  who  was  a  chief 
among  them,  put  a  crown  of  olive  leaves  about  her 
head.  So  they  led  her  to  their  chief  Sylvanus,  and 
he,  waked  from  his  sleep  by  their  shouting,  came 
forth  to  meet  them,  leaning  on  a  staff  of  cypress 
wood,  and  having  a  rope  of  ivy  knitted  about  his 
middle.  When  he  saw  her,  much  did  he  marvel 
who  she  could  be.  ^^This  is  not  Venus,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "for  Venus  never  was  in  so  sober  a 
mood;  no,  nor  Diana,  for  I  see  not  her  bow  and 
arrows  and  the  buskins  up  to  her  knee.'*  And 
while  he  stood  and  wondered,  the  nymphs  flocked 
in  to  see,  nymphs  of  the  fountains  and  the  woods, 
and  they  whose  lives  are  bound  to  a  single  tree, 
living  while  it   lives  and  dying  when   it  dies.    Nor 


THE  LADY   UNA    AND   THE  SATYRS  37 

were  they  less  astonished,  but  they  were  ill  pleased 
that  one  so  fair  should  come  among  them:  ^^Who 
of  the  wood  folk,"  they  said  to  themselves,  "will 
think  of  us  when  this  mortal  maid  is  near?" 

Many  days  Lady  Una  tarried  with  this  Strange 
folk,  and  not  unwillingly,  for  it  was  as  it  were  a 
breathing  time,  giving  her  rest  from  the  long  toil  of 
her  journey.  And  while  she  tarried  she  strove  to 
the  utmost  to  teach  them  something  of  the  Christian 
faith:  but  ever  she  had  much  ado  to  keep  them 
from  the  worshipping  of  herself.  And  when  she 
had  scarcely  kept  them  from  this,  they  turned  to 
worship  her  ass. 

After  a  while  there  came  into  these  parts  a 
certain  knight,  Satyrane  by  name,  so  called  because 
he  was  the  son*"of  a  prince  among  the  satyrs,  but 
his  mother  was  of  the  race  of  men.  He  was 
brought  up  in  the  woods,  far  from  all  human  com- 
pany; nor  did  he  learn  letters  or  any  craft  whatso- 
ever, but  only  to  be  ever  of  a  good  courage  and  to 
banish  fear.  So  he  would  lay  his  hand  on  lions 
and  bears,  and  tame  the  wild  bulls  of  the  forest, 
riding  on  them  as  one  might  ride  upon  a  horse. 
And  hie  grew  to  be  so  swift  of  foot  that  he  would 
overtake  the  roebuck  in  his  flight.  'Tis  said  that 
once  when  his  mother  came  to  see  him,  for  she  had 
gone  back  to  dwell  with  her  own  kind,  she  saw  him 
carrying  in  his  arms  the  cubs  of  a  Honess  which  he 
he  had  carried  away  from  their  dam,  while  the 
creature,  in  its  rage,  followed  him,  roaring  aloud, 
yet  dared  not  spring,  so  well  did  all  the  beasts  of 


38  THE  LADY   UNA    AND   THE  SATYRS 

the  forest  know  and  fear  him.  When  he  grew  to 
years  of  manhood  he  was  not  content  with  the 
conquest  over  wild  beasts,  or  with  Hfe  in  the  wood 
far  from  man.  He  went  therefore  into  distant 
lands  seeking  adventures,  in  which  he  acquitted 
him  so  well  that  no  man  could  boast  of  having 
overthrown  him.  Yet  it  was  his  custom  from  time 
to  time  to  return  to  his  old  dwelling-place  to  see  his 
old  father  and  to  rest  awhile  from  his  labours. 
And  so  coming  now,  he  chanced  to  find  the  Lady 
Una  sitting  with  a  company  of  the  forest  folk 
around  her,  teaching  them  holy  things.  Much  he 
marvelled  to  see  how  fair  she  was,  and  more  did  he 
marvel  at  the  wise  and  gracious  words  that  came 
from  her  lips;  for,  indeed,  by  this  time,  being  by 
nature  of  a  hvely  wit,  he  had  himself  learnt  many 
things.  So  he  gladly  sought  her  company,  and 
would  fain  be  her  disciple  and  learn  the  ways  of 
righteousness  and  peace  from  her  lips. 

After  certain  days  the  Lady  Una,  seeing  that 
this  Satyrane  was  an  honourable  knight  and  worthy 
of  trust,  said  to  him,  *^I  would  fain  go  on  with 
journeyings,  if  haply  I  may  find  my  champion." 
"  Lady, "  he  made  answer,'*!  am  bound  to  do  your 
pleasure;  it  shall  be  as  you  say."  So  having 
watched  for  a  time  when  the  forest  folk  were  away, 
he  took  her  through  the  forest  till  they  came  to  the. 
plain  beyond.  When  the  day  was  now  far  spent 
they  spied  a  traveller  on  the  road,  and  judging 
from  his  look  and  garb  that  he  had  come  from  far, 
hastened   towards  him,   hoping   that   they  might  by 


THE  LADY    UNA   AND   THE  SATYRS  39 

chance  hear  something  that  would  help  them  in 
their  quest.  He  was  an  old  man  of  low  estate,  as 
it  seemed,  his  garments  worn  and  soiled  with  much 
dust  from  the  road,  his  sandals  torn  with  much 
travelling,  and  his  face  bronzed  by  the  sun,  as  if 
he  had  travelled  long  in  Arabian  or  Indian  land. 
A  staff  he  carried  in  his  hand,  and  on  his  shoulders 
hung  a  wallet  in  which  he  carried  such  things  as 
were  needed  for  his  journey. 

Satyrane  said  to  him:  "Friend,  have  you  aught 
to  tell  me  of  wars  and  adventures  in  these  or  in 
foreign  parts,  for  indeed  you  seem  to  have  come  a 
long  way?''  "Nay,"  answered  the  stranger,  "I  am 
a  simple  man,  and  know  nothing  of  such  matters." 
Then  said  the  Lady  Una:  "Tell  me  now  whether 
you  have  seen  or  heard  aught  of  the  champion 
whom  I  am  seeking?  He  bears  a  red  cross  on  his 
armour."  The  old  man  answered:  "Fair  lady, 
truly  I  have  seen  such  an  one  with  these  eyes,  and 
a  sorry  sight  it  was,  for  he  lay  dead  upon  the 
ground."  When  the  Lady  Una  heard  these  words 
she  fell  to  the  earth  in  a  swoon.  When  Satyrane 
with  much  care  had  brought  her  back  to  life,  she 
said:  "Friend,  tell  me  all  that  you  know;  one  who 
has  borne  the  greater  pain  may  well  endure  the 
less. " 

The  old  traveller  answered:  "On  a  certain  day 
—  an  evil  day  it  was,  and  I  am  grieved  that  I  ever 
lived  to  see  it  —  as  I  chanced  to  be  passing  on  my 
way,  I  saw  two  knights  contending  fiercely  together; 
one  was  a  Saracen,  and  the  other  bore  a  red  cross 


40  THE  LADY   UNA   AND   THE  SATYRS 

on  his  shield,  and  he  that  carried  this  device  was 
slain."  "Oh  to  think,''  cried  the  Lady  Una, 
"that  he  should  be  thus  overcome,  he  that  was  so 
stout  and  brave.  How  could  such  an  evil  chance 
befall?"  "That  I  know  not,  fair  lady,"  said  the  old 
man;  "I  can  but  relate  the  thing  which  I  saw  with 
mine  eyes."  Then  said  Satyrane:  "Tell  me  now, 
old  man,  where  is  the  Saracen  knight  that  did  this 
deed?  Is  he  far  from  hence  or  near  at  hand?" 
The  old  man  made  answer:  "You  may  find  him 
not  far  from  here.  I  left  him  but  a  short  time 
ago  sitting  by  a  fountain  where  he  washed  his 
wounds." 

The  knight  Satyrane,  having  further  inquired 
by  what  way  he  should  go,  made  all  haste  to  find 
the  Saracen,  fearing  lest  haply  he  should  have 
departed.  And,  indeed,  he  found  him,  sitting  by 
the  fountain  side  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  for  it 
was  Sansloy,  the  same  that  had  overthrown  Archi- 
mage.  And  Satyrane  cried  aloud:  "Rise  from 
your  place,  accursed  miscreant,  you  that  by  some 
unknightly  craft  and  treachery  have  slain  the  Red- 
Cross  Knight,  for  I  know  well  that  you  could  not 
have  overcome  him  in  fair  fight.  Rise  up,  and  either 
maintain  your  cause  in  arms,  or  confess  your  guilt." 
The  Saracen,  when  he  heard  these  words,  rose 
quickly  from  his  place  and  put  his  helmet  on  his 
head,  and  took  his  shield  upon  his  arm,  and  drew 
near  to  his  adversary.  But  first  he  said:  "Truly 
you  have  been  sent  hither  in  an  evil  hour  to  fight 
a  quarrel  that  is  not  yours.    And,  indeed,  you  blame 


THE  LADY   UNA    AND   THE  SATYRS  41 

me  for  a  deed  which  I  have  not  done.  The  Red- 
Cross  Knight  I  slew  not,  nor  indeed  did  I  engage 
in  fight  with  him.  Someone  who  falsely  bore  his 
arms  I  overthrew.  But  come  now,  if  you  may 
not  fight  in  his  quarrel,  fight  in  your  own.'' 

Then  the  two  men  came  together  in  fierce 
encounter.  When  they  were  at  the  hottest  of  the 
fray,  the  Lady  Una  came  to  the  place,  for  Satyrane 
had  left  her  behind  in  his  haste.  And  when  she 
saw  the  Saracen  she  said  to  herself:  "Now  what 
shall  I  do  if  this  false  villain  should  get  the  upper 
hand  of  Satyrane?"  And  the  thought  struck  such 
terror  into  her  heart  that  she  straightway  turned 
and  fled  from  the  place.  And  the  old  traveller, 
who  had  told  the  false  tale  of  the  slaying  of  the 
Red-Cross  Knight,  followed  her,  for,  indeed,  he  was 
none  other  than  Archimage. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OF  THE   GIANT  ORGOGLIO 

WHEN  the  false  Duessa  came  back  to  the 
Palace  of  Pride  from  the  journey  which  she 
had  made  in  the  matter  of  Sansjoy,  she  found  that 
the  Red-Cross  Knight  had  departed.  Thereupon 
she  set  out  without  delay,  being  altogether  unwill- 
ing that  he  should  escape  out  of  reach  of  her  nets. 
Nor,  indeed,  was  it  long  before  she  found  him, 
sitting  by  the  side  of  a  spring  in  the  shade  of  a 
tree.  He  had  put  off  his  armour  by  reason  of  his 
weariness  and  of  the  heat  of  the  day.  "You  did 
ill  to  leave  me  in  that  ill  place  Sir  Knight,"  she 
said,  "for  ill  I  found  it  to  be,  even  as  you  did 
yourself.''  Then  he  excused  himself  with  courteous 
words,  and  so  peace  was  made  again  between  the 
two. 

Now  the  spring  by  which  the  Knight  was  taking 
his  rest  was  not  as  other  springs,  but  there  lay  a 
curse  upon  it,  because  the  nymph  which  dwelt 
therein  had  fallen  out  of  favour  with  her  mistress, 
Diana.  And  the  cause  of  her  so  falling  was  this. 
On  a  certain  day,  as  Diana  and  her  train  were 
following  the  chase,  the  nymph  of  this  spring,  being 
wearied    with    the    heat    and    toil   of   the   day,    sat 

42 


OF  THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO  43 

herself  down  to  rest.  With  this  her  mistress,  being 
very  keen  in  her  hunting,  was  ill  pleased:  *^Maid," 
she  cried,  "you  are  dull  and  slow;  such,  then,  shall 
these  waters  be  for  ever,  ay,  and  whosoever  ^hall 
drink  of  them."  Of  this  the  Knight  knew  nothing, 
bnt  because  the  waters  were  crystal  clear  and  cold, 
and  his  thirst  was  great,  he  drank  a  great  draught. 
And  as  he  drank,  the  powers  of  body  and  soul 
grew  faint  and  feeble,  but  by  slow  degrees  and  un- 
perceived.  Ere  long  there  came  to  his  ears  a  loud 
bellowing  sound  which  made  the  trees  to  tremble 
and  the  very  earth  to  shake.  The  Knight  leapt 
from  the  ground,  and  would  have  armed  himself, 
but  yet,  such  was  the  working  of  that  magic  spring, 
was  strangely  slow.  Certain  it  is  that  ere  he  could 
don  his  armour  or  thrust  his  arm  into  the  fitting  of 
his  shield,  there  came  stalking  along  with  mighty 
stride  the  most  fearsome  giant  that  ever  was  seen 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  His  stature  was  thrice 
that  of  man,  and  in  his  right  hand  he  carried  an 
oak  tree  which  he  had  torn  from  the  earth  by  its 
roots.  It  served  him  for  a  staff  whereon  to  stay 
his  steps,  and  for  a  mace  with  which  to  slay  his 
foes.  So  soon  as  he  spied  the  Knight  he  came 
against  him  with  the  oak  tree  lifted  in  his  hand. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Knight  made  a  vain  show  of 
batde,  but  the  strength  had  departed  from  his  arm, 
and  the  heart  in  him  failed  for  fear.  He  lifted  his 
sword,  indeed,  but  he  had  no  power  to  strike. 
Then  the  giant  aimed  at  him  a  mighty  blow,  such 
as  would    have   levelled  to  the   ground    a   tower  of 


44  OF   THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO 

stone.  Verily,  but  for  the  grace  and  help  of  God, 
it  had  ground  him  to  powder,  but  he  leapt  from 
under  it,  yet  its  very  wind  laid  him  prostrate  on  the 
ground.  When  the  giant  saw  him  lie  helpless  in  this 
fashion,  be  lifted  his  hand  again  as  if  to  slay  him,  but 
the  false  Duessa,  who,  for  her  own  ends,  would  not 
have  the  Knight  perish  in  this  fashion,  cried  aloud: 
*^0  Orgoglio,  greatest  of  all  creatures  under  the 
sun,  slay  him  not,  but  make  him  your  thrall  and 
slave.''  The  giant  listened  to  this  prayer.  He 
took  the  Knight  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  to  his 
castle,  and  there  threw  him  into  a  dungeon  that 
had  been  dug  deep  into  the  earth.  There  he  lay 
for  a  while,  with  such  scant  provision  of  meat  and 
drink  as  sufficed  to  keep  the  life  in  him. 

The  faithful  Dwarf  had  seen  his  master  fall,  for 
he  had  the  Knight's  war-horse  in  charge,  while  the 
beast  was  grazing  in  the  meadow  hard  by.  And 
now,  the  giant  having  departed  with  his  prisoner, 
he  gathered  together  the  arms  and  the  armour,  for 
these  Orgoglio  had  left  lying  on  the  ground  as 
taking  no  account  of  such  things.  There  was  the 
helmet  and  the  cuirass,  and  the  greaves  and  the 
shield  with  the  cross  upon  it,  and  the  spear  —  things 
sad  to  behold,  now  that  there  was  none  to  wear  or 
wield  them.  He  laid  them  on  the  back  of  the  war- 
horse,  and  so  departed.  He  had  not  gone  far 
before  he  met  the  Lady  Una  herself.  When  she 
saw  him  and  the  war-horse  and  the  burden  which 
it  bore,  there  was  no  spirit  left  in  her,  so  that  she 
fell   without   sense   to   the  ground.    Willingly   would 


OF   THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO  45 

the  faithful  Dwarf  have  died,  knowing  what  ill 
tidings  he  bore,  and  seeing  how  ill  they  were  taken. 
Nevertheless  he  did  not  lose  heart,  but  with  much 
pain  and  care  sought  to  recover  the  lady  from  her 
swoon.  Thrice  did  he  bring  ber  back  to  life,  and 
thrice  she  fell  as  one  dead  to  the  ground.  At  last, 
when  the  spirit  within  her  had  somewhat  recovered 
itself,  she  said  with  faltering  tongue:  *'Tell  me  now, 
faithful  friend,  the  whole  story  from  the  beginning, 
how  it  is  that  I  see  these  relics  of  the  bravest 
knight  that  ever  was.  Verily  Fortune  has  spent 
all  her  spite  upon  him  and  me.  Worse  than  that 
which  I  feel  in  my  heart  I  cannot  hear.  Begin 
your  tale  and  carry  it  to  the  very  end.  If  haply  it 
shall  be  in  aught  less  dreadful  than  what  I  fear,  so 
much  I  shall  have  gained." 

Then  the  Dwarf  rehearsed  from  the  beginning 
all  that  had  befallen  the  Red-Cross  Knight  from 
the  time  of  their  parting,  the  deceits  of  Archimage 
and  the  wiles  of  the  false  Duessa,  and  the  fate  of 
the  two  lovers  who  had  been  changed  to  trees,  and 
the  Palace  of  Pride,  and  the  combat  with  Sansjoy, 
and  how  the  Knight  had  been  taken  unprepared  by 
the  giant  OrgogHo. 

To  these  things  the  lady  listened  with  atten- 
tive ear,  and  when  the  Dwarf  had  ended  his  tale 
she  said:  ^* Verily  I  will  seek  him  as  long  as  I  live. 
Lead  on,  and  show  me  the  way  that  I  must  go." 
So  they  travelled  both  together. 

They  had  not  journeyed  far  before  they  met 
a  knight  riding  on  the  way  with  his  squire  behind 


46  OF  THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO 

him.  Never  was  there  more  gallant  warrior  or 
more  gallantly  arrayed.  His  armour  shone  like 
the  sun,  and  across  his  breast  he  wore  a  baldrick 
richly  adorned  with  precious  stones.  Costly  were 
they  all,  but  one  among  them  shone  most  excel- 
lently, a  great  diamond  like  to  the  head  of  a  fair 
lady,  brighter  than  all  the  rest,  even  as  the  star*  of 
evening  is  brighter  than  all  the  hosts  of  heaven. 
His  sword  hung  from  his  side  in  a  sheath  cunningly 
made  of  ivory;  its  hilt  was  of  burnished  gold,  and 
its  buckle  also  of  gold.  The  crest  of  his  helmet 
was  a  great  dragon,  with  wings  spread  out  on 
either  side,  and  above  the  crest  a  horse-hair  plume, 
which  waved  to  and  fro  as  an  almond  tree  waves 
its  blossoms  in  the  breath  of  spring.  But  the 
great  rnarvel  of  his  equipment  was  his  shield.  It 
was  not  made  of  iron  or  of  brass,  as  are  the  shields 
of  common  men,  but  of  one  great  diamond.  Only 
it  was  covered  up  from  sight.  When  he  would 
dismay  some  huge  monster,  or  strike  with  fear 
some  great  array  of  the  enemy,  then  he  would 
show  its  brightness.  No  pov\jer  of  man,  no  en- 
chantments, strong  and  subtle  as  they  might  be, 
could  prevail  against  it,  or  diminish  aught  of  its 
power,  for  indeed  it  was  made  by  the  greatest 
magician  that  ever  lived  upon  the  earth,  even 
Merlin. 

The  gallant  knight  spake  full  courteously  to 
the  Lady  Una,  asking  if  he  could  help  her  or 
serve  her  in  aught.  "Oh,  Sir,"  she  answered, 
"my  sorrow  is  so  great  that  it  is  past   all   remedy. 


OF  THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO  47 

What  would  it  profit  to  tell  the  tale?     'Tis  best  to 
^ide    it    in    my    heart    nor    stir    the    hidden    grief." 

"Nay,  lady,"  answered  the  knight,  '^I  doubt  not 
that  your  grief  is  great,  but  I  would  counsel  you 
to  tell  the  tale  for  all  it  is  so  sad.  Pain  is  ever 
lessened,  be  it  ever  so  great,  by  wise  counsel,  and 
he  who  will  not  reveal  his  trouble  may  never 
find  help." 

So  they  spake  together,  he  persuading  her  to 
reveal  her  sorrow  and  she  unwilling  to  bring  it 
to  the  light,  till  at  last,  yielding  to  his  words  of 
wisdom,  she  told  her  tale. 

"I  am  the  daughter,"  she  said,  "the  only  child 
of  a  king  and  queen  whose  kingdom  lies  far  by 
the  river  Euphrates.  Long  did  they  reign  in 
great  prosperity,  till  a  great  dragon,  bred  in  the 
lakes  of  Tartary,  wasted  their  land  till  there  was 
nothing  left  of  all  that  belonged  to  them,  save  the 
one  castle  in  which  they  dwelt,  and  to  this  the 
dragon  has  laid  siege  now  for  the  space  of  four 
years.  Many  knights  have  taken  in  hand  this 
enterprise,  to  subdue  the  dragon  and  to  deHver 
those  whom  fie  oppresses.  From  every  country 
under  heaven  have  they  come,  brave  men  and 
famous  for  great  deeds,  but  they  have  failed,  one 
and  all.  For  want  of  faith  or  for  the  hidden 
weakness  of  some  secret  sin  they  have  fallen 
before  him.  At  last  there  came  to  our  land  a 
report  of  certain  famous  knights  that  had  been 
bred  in  this  realm  of  Fairy  Land.  Thereupon  I 
betook  myself  thither,  even  to  the  Court  of  Queen 


48  OF   THE  GIANT  ORGOGLIO 

Gloriana,  who  dwells  in  the  City  of  Renown, 
hoping  that  I  might  there  find  some  faithful 
knight  who  should  deliver  my  father  and  mother 
from  the  power  of  the  tyrant.  Nor  did  I  go  in 
vain.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  find  a  gallant 
knight  who  was  fit  and  willing  to  undertake  this 
task.  Unproved  indeed  he  was,  but  he  was  of 
a  fair  body  and  a  noble  soul.  It  was  he  who 
set  forth  upon  this  enterprise.  Of  his  prowess 
I  saw  full  many  a  proof.  Yea,  the  sword  and  the 
spear  which  you  see  on  the  back  of  yonder  steed 
might  tell,  if  they  could  speak,  of  the  great  deeds 
which  he  has  wrought.  But  by  ill  chance  he 
encountered  a  most  false  magician,  by  whose  arts 
he  was  betrayed.  First  this  vile  creature  made 
division  between  my  knight  and  me,  so  that  he 
misdoubted  of  my  faith.  Next  he  delivered  him 
to  the  wiles  of  a  certain  false  woman,  Duessa  by 
name.  And  she  has  betrayed  him  into  the  hands 
of  a  great  and  terrible  giant,  Orgoglio  by  name. 
And  in  this  giant's  dungeon  he  now  lies  pining  to 
death.  This  is  my  grief,  Sir  Knight,  and  greater, 
surely,  never  woman  bore." 

^^Your  grief  is  indeed  great,"  answered  the 
stranger  knight;  "but  be  of  good  cheer.  I  will 
never  leave  you  till  I  have  set  your  champion 
free.  Come  now,  let  us  bring  this  matter  to 
an  end." 

So  they  rode  on  together  with  the  Dwarf  for 
their  guide.  The  name  of  the  gallant  knight  who 
bore  the  shield  of  diamond  was  Arthur. 


p 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OF  THE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR 

WHEN  they  had  travelled  a  score  of  miles  or 
so,  they  came  to  a  castle  which  was  built 
very  high  and  strong.  Thereupon  the  Dwarf  cried 
out,  ^'This  is  the  place  in  which  my  good  lord  Hes 
a  prisoner,  the  thrall  of  the  giant  Orgoglio/'  There- 
upon the-  Prince  Arthur  alighted  from  his  steed,  and 
said  to  the  Lady  Una,  ^'Stay  here,  madam,  and 
await  the  issue  of  this  day^s  combat.''  Then,  at  his 
bidding,  the  squire  came  near  to  the  wall  of  the 
castle.  He  found  the  gates  fast  shut,  with  no 
warder  to  guard  them,  nor  was  there  any  to  answer 
when  he  called.  Then  the  squire  took  in  his  hand 
a  bugle  that  he  bore,  that  hung  by  his  side  with  a 
chain  of  gold  decked  with  gay  tassels.  It  was  a 
bugle  of  wondrous  power;  for  three  miles  it  could 
be  heard,  and  there  came  out  of  space  three  answers 
to  its  blast,  nor  could  anyone  in  whose  heart  there 
was  aught  of  falsehood  endure  to  hear  it  without 
dismay,  nor  could  any  bolt  or  bar,  however  stout 
they  i  might  be,  withstand  its  summons.  This  bugle, 
then.  Prince  Arthur's  squire  sounded  before  the 
giant's  castle.  And  it  was  shaken  straightway 
from  the  foundation  to  the  topmost  towers,  and  the 

D  49 


50         OF  THE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR 

doors  flew  open  of  their  own  accord.  The  giant 
himself  was  much  troubled  at  the  sound,  and  came 
with  staggering  steps,  as  one  smitten  with  a  sudden 
fear,  to  see  what  it  might  mean.  And  after  came 
the  false  Duessa,  riding  on  a  many-headed  beast, 
with  fiery  tongues,  for  such  a  monster  the  giant 
had  given  her  for  her  own. 

Prince  Arthur  without  delay  addressed  himself 
to  the  fight.  Nor  did  the  giant  draw  back,  being 
persuaded  that  no  mortal  man  could  stand  up  against 
him  and  prevail.  He  thought,  indeed,  to  slay  him 
with  a  single  blow,  and  lifted  up  his  mighty  club. 
But  the  Prince  was  wise  and  wary,  and,  lightly 
leaping  aside,  he  escaped  the  stroke  unhurt,  for  he 
thought  it  no  shame  to  use  his  craft  against  brute 
strength.  As  for  the  club,  so  missing  its  aim,  it 
sank  deep  into  the  earth,  making  a  furrow  a  yard 
deep  and  more.  The  giant  pulled  at  it  amain, 
seeking  to  lift  it  for  another  stroke,  but  could  not 
prevail,  so  fast  was  it  buried.  The  knight,  therefore, 
had  him  at  a  disadvantage,  and  smote  him  with  his 
sword  so  deadly  a  stroke  that  it  shore  off  his  arm. 
Loud  did  he  bellow  with  fear  and  pain,  and  Duessa, 
seeing  her  champion  in  sore  distress,  made  the  great 
beast  on  which  she  sat  advance  against  the  Knight. 
But  now  Prince  Arthur's  squire,  a  gallant  warrior, 
worthy  of  such  a  lord,  stood  forth  and,  with  his 
single  sword,  barred  the  way.  In  high  disdain  to 
be  hindered  by  so  weak  a  foe  Duessa  yet  again 
urged  on  the  beast,  but  still  the  squire  stood  firm; 
he    would    not    give    place    a    single    step    lest    the 


OF  THE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR         51 

enemy  should  so  gain  an  advantage  against  his 
lord.  Then  Duessa  had  recourse  to  her  magic 
arts,  for  she  took  of  the  magic  juices  which  she 
ever  carried  with  her,  and  sprinkled  them  upon  the 
youth,  and  quenched  his  courage  and  robbed  him 
of  his  strength,  so  that  he  could  neither  see  nor 
stand.  So  he  fell  all  his  length  upon  the  earth,  and 
the  beast  laid  his  deadly  claws  upon  his  neck,  and 
would  have  crushed  the  life  out  of  him.  But  the 
Knight,  perceiving  his  evil  plight,  turned  quickly 
from>  his  own  adversary,  and  addressed  himself  to 
the  beast,  for,  indeed,  it  grieved  him  much  that  his 
faithful  squire  should  have  come  into  such  peril  of 
his  life.  So,  lifting  high  the  sword  with  which  he 
had  smitten  the  giant,  he  smote  the  beast  upon  one 
of  its  heads,  making  the  blood  pour  out  amain. 
But  when  the  beast,  writhing  to  and  fro  in  its  pain, 
would  have  shaken  Duessa  from  her  seat  upon  its 
back,  and  she  cried  out  in  her  fear,  the  giant  came 
to  her  help.  He  was,  indeed,  of  no  common  nature, 
nor  was  he  disabled  by  the  wound  which  would 
have  bereft  all  other  creatures  of  strength.  In  the 
one  hand  which  was  left  to  him  there  dwelt  the 
strength  of  the  two,  and  now  being  free  to  use  again 
his  club  of  oak,  he  Hfted  it  up  high  and  dealt  such 
a  blow  at  Prince  Arthur's  shield  that  it  brought  him 
to'  the  ground.  But  now  by  this  very  stroke  the 
Knight's  deliverance  was  wrought,  for  the  covering 
was  torn  from  the  shield  by  its  violence,  and  all  its 
brightness  was  revealed.  With  so  great  a  splendour 
did  it  blaze  into  the  giant's  eyes  that  he  dropped  his 


52         OF  THE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR 

arm  and  let  fall  the  club  with  which  he  was  ready 
to  slay  his  adversary.  The  beast  also  was  blinded 
by  that  brightness,  and  fell  reft  of  its  senses  on  the 
ground.  Nor  when  Duessa  cried  aloud  to  the 
giant  in  her  fear  could  he  render  effectual  help. 
With  stroke  after  stroke  the  Prince  lopped  from 
him  limb  after  limb,  till  he  lay  dead  upon  the 
ground.  And  then  this  marvel  came  to  pass. 
This  creature  which  had  seemed  so  vast  seemed  to 
vanish  away.  As  for  Duessa,  she  sprang  from  off 
the  beast,  and  would  have  fled  away  upon  her  feet. 
But  this  the  squire  would  not  suffer,  for,  pursuing 
her  with  speedy  feet,  he  laid  hold  of  her  and 
brought  her  back  to  the  Prince  to  await  his 
judgment. 

And  now  the  Lady  Una,  who  in  fear  and 
trembling  had  watched  the  combat  from  a  dis- 
tance, came  near  and  thanked  both  Knight  and 
squire  for  the  good  service  which  they  had 
rendered.  ^^I  cannot  repay  you,"  she  said;  "may 
Heaven  give  you  your  reward  and  with  usury. 
Suffer  me  to  say  one  thing.  Let  not  this  false 
woman  depart,  for,  indeed,  she  is  the  cause  of  all 
the  mischief  that  has  been  wrought."  Then  Prince 
Arthur  said  to  his  squire:  "Take  this  woman  in 
charge;  I  will  go  seek  the  Red-Cross  Knight." 
So  he  departed  on  this  errand,  and,  entering  the 
castle,  sought  someone  of  whom  he  might  inquire. 
No  one  did  he  find,  and  though  he  called  aloud, 
there  was  none  to  answer.  At  last  there  came 
forth  an  old  man  leaning  on  a  staff  with  which  he 


OF   THE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR         53 

guided  his  steps,  for  the  sight  of  his  eyes  had  failed 
him  long  since,  and  carrying  a  great  bunch  of  keys, 
but  all  of  them  overgrown  with  rust.  His  name 
was  Ignaro.  A  reverend  sire  he  seemed,  and  the 
Knight  asked  him  with  all  courtesy:  '^Who  are 
they  that  dwell  in  this  place,  and  where  may  they 
be  found?''  "I  cannot  tell,''  he  said.  Then  the 
Prince  asked  again:  '^ Where,  then,  is  the  Knight 
whom  the  giant  Orgoglio  holds  in  thrall?"  *^I 
cannot  tell,"  said  he  again,  nor  did  he  say  any  other 
words.  The  Prince's  anger  rose  at  this  foolishness, 
but  he  checked  it  as  should  a  courteous  knight,  and, 
taking  the,  keys  from  the  old  man's  hand,  essayed  to 
open  the  doors,  nor  did  they  delay  to  yield.  Great 
riches  he  found  within  —  store  of  gold,  and  tapestry 
finely  wrought,  and  much  splendid  furnishing;  but 
the  floor  was  foul  with  blood.  Vainly  did  he  search 
through  all  the  chambers;  the  prisoner  he  could 
not  find.  At  last  he  came  to  an  iron  door.  It  was 
fast  locked,  nor  was  there  a  key  upon  the  bunch 
that  would  open  it.  But  in  the  door  there  was  a 
grating  of  iron  bars.  Through  this  he  called 
aloud:  "Dwells  there  anyone  in  this  place,  for  I 
will  set  him  free?  "  To  this  there  came  a  low 
voice  making  this  reply:  "Who  is  that  who  comes? 
Three  months  have  I  lain  in  this  foul  dungeon,  and 
if  you  bring  me  death  itself  I  would  choose  it  rather 
than  to  stay  in  this  place."  When  the  Prince  heard 
I  these  words  he  was  overcome  with  horror  and  pity; 
I  not  the  less,  gathering  up  all  his  strength,  he  smote 
!|  the  door,  and  brake  it  from  its  hinges.     But  when 


54         OF   TBE  DEEDS  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR 

the  opening  was  made,  lo !  on  the  other  side  was 
no  floor  but  only  a  deep  pit,  dark  as  night,  from 
which  there  came  up  a  loathsome  smell.  But 
neither  the  pit  nor  the  darkness  nor  the  vile  stench 
abated  the  Prince's  courage.  With  much  pains 
and  toil  he  drew  up  the  prisoner  from  the  pit. 
Sadly  wasted  was  he.  He  could  not  stand  upon 
his  feet,  and  his  eyes,  deep  sunk  in  the  sockets, 
could  not  bear  to  look  upon  the  light,  and  his 
arms  that  had  been  so  staunch  and  strong  in  the 
old  time  were  wasted  to  the  bone.  So  the  Prince 
carried  him  to  the  castle  door.  And  when  the 
Lady  Una  saw  him,  she  was  filled  with  pity  and 
ruth  and  would  have  comforted  him:  ''Welcome, 
my  lord,'*  she  cried,  ''whom  I  have  so  long  desired 
to  see.  Soon  shall  you  have  a  recompense  for  all 
that  you  have  suffered."  "Dear  lady,"  he  made 
answer,  "we  will  not  speak  of  the  evil  that  is  past; 
only  let  us  beware  that  we  fall  not  into  it  again. 
For,  indeed,  there  is  engraven  in  my  heart,  as  with 
a  pen  of  iron,  this  true  saying:  'Happiness  may 
not  abide  in  the  heart  of  mortal  man.'" 

As  for  the  false  Duessa,  they  were  content  to 
strip  her  of  her  robes  and  ornaments.  And  fouler 
creature  to  behold  there  never  was.  Then  the 
knights  and  the  squire  and  the  Lady  Una  tarried 
awhile  in  the  castle,  where  they  found  all  things 
that  they  needed.  So  they  took  for  sundry  days 
a  rest  from  their  toil. 


CHAPTER  IX 

OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS 

THE  time  was  now  come  -when,  having  rested 
sufficiently,  the  Red-Cross  Knight  must  set 
forth  again,  and  Prince  Arthur,  being  bound  for 
another  land,  must  bid  his  companions  farewell. 
Then  said  the  Lady  Una:  "Tell  us  now  your 
name  and  nation,  for  it  would  be  a  great  loss  not  to 
know  to  whom  we  owe  so  great  a  debt.''  "Fair 
lady,"  said  he,  "you  ask  me  that  which  it  passeth 
my  wit  to  answer.  This  only  do  I  know,  that  so 
soon  as  I  was  born  I  was  taken  by  a  knight  of 
Fairyland  to  Timon,  now  the  wisest,  as  he  was  once 
the  most  expert,  in  arm^  among  Hving  men,  by  him 
to  be  brought  up  in  all  virtuous  lore  and  noble 
accompHshment.  To  his  house  the  great  Merlin 
would  often  come,  for  he  had  the  chief  charge  of 
my  upbringing,  and  he,  when  I  asked  him  of  my 
family,  answered:  *Be  content;  you  are  the  son 
and  heir  of  a  king,  as  shall  be  made  manifest  in  due 
tim'e.'"  "And  how,"  said  the  Lady  Una,  "came 
you  here  seeking  adventure?"  "You  bid  me 
renew  an  unspeakable  grief,"  he  answered.  "There 
"^  was  a  time  when  I  laughed  at  the  name  of  Love, 
and    thought    scorn    of    all    that    suffered    from    its 

55 


56  OF   THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS 

power.  But  there  came  a  time  when  I  myself 
confessed  it.  On  a  certain  day,  being  wearied  out 
with  sport,  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep.  And  in  my 
sleep  I  dreamt  a  dream.  The  Queen  of  Fairyland 
stood  by  my  side  and  told  me  that  she  loved  me 
and  would  show  her  love  when  the  time  should 
come.  Such  was  my  dream;  whether  it  was  false 
or  true  I  know  not  —  only  that  never  in  this  world 
did  man  see  so  fair  a  sight  or  hear  words  so  sweet. 
And  when  I  woke  I  vowed  in  my  heart  that  I 
would  seek  her,  and  never  rest  till  I  had  found  her. 
Nine  months  have  I  sought  her,  but  in  vain.''  The 
Lady  Una  said:  ''Happy  Queen  of  Fairies  that 
has  found  so  gallant  a  champion!"  and  the  Red- 
Cross  Knight  said:  "O  sir,  to  whom  I  owe  my  life, 
if  ever  man  was  worthy  of  such  love,  you  are  surely 
he!" 

And  now  the  time  was  come  when  they  must 
part.  Prince  Arthur  gave  to  the  Knight  a  box  of 
diamonds  set  in  gold,  wherein  were  drops  of  a 
wondrous  liquid  of  a  virtue  so  excellent  that  it 
could  heal  the  most  grievous  wounds.  And  the 
Knight  gave  to  the  Prince  a  book  in  which  the 
Gospels  were  written  in  golden  letters. 

They  had  not  journeyed  far  when  they  were 
aware  of  a  knight,  in  complete  armour,  riding  towards 
them  as  fast  as  his  horse  could  gallop.  He  seemed 
to  be  flying  from  an  enemy  or  from  some  dreadful 
thing,  for,  ever  and  anon,  he  cast  a  look  behind 
him  as  though  an  enemy  were  close  at  his  heels. 
When  he  came  near  they  saw  that  his  head  was 


OF    THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS  57 

uncovered,  and  that  his  hair  bristled  with  fear,  while 
his  face  was  as  pale  as  death,  and  that  round  his 
neck  was  a  rope  of  hemp,  which,  indeed,  ill  agreed 
with  his  shining  armour.  But  he  made  no  account, 
so  overcome  with  fear  was  he,  either  of  rope  or  of 
arms.  The  Red-Cross  Knight  rode  as  fast  as  he 
could  so  as  to  meet  him  as  he  fled,  and  said  to  him: 
''Tell  me,  Sir  Knight,  what  has  befallen  you  ? 
From  whom  do  you  flee  ?  Never  have  I  seen 
knight  in  such  evil  plight. '^ 

Not  a  word  did  the  stranger  speak,  but  stood 
staring  widely  out  of  stony  eyes.  But  after  a  while 
he  gathered  strength  to  speak,  but  fuU  low,  and  with 
faltering  words:  ''For  the  love  of  God,"  he  said, 
"gentle  Knight,  hinder  me  not:  he  comes;  see!  he 
comes  after  me,  as  fast  as  he  can  ride."  But  the 
Red-Cross  Knight  held  him  fast,  and  using  now 
comfort  and  now  reproach,  at  last  put  some  little 
heart  into  him,  so  that  he  could  tell  his  tale,  and 
the  tale  was  this  — 

"I  chanced  of  late  to  be  in  company  with  a 
gentle  knight.  Sir  Terwin  by  name.  He  was  a 
man  of  good  repute  for  courage  and  skill  in  arms, 
but  he  fared  ill  in  one  matter,  in  that  he  loved  a 
fair  lady  who  had  but  little  love  for  him,  but  rather 
took  pleasure  in  seeing  him  languish  and  lament. 
On  a  certain  day  as  we  were  coming  away  from  the 
lady's  dwelling  —  for  he  had  been  paying  her  court, 
and  had  been  most  disdainfully  treated  —  v/e  met  a 
stranger  who  greeted  us  courteously,  and,  as  we 
fared  on  together,  told  us  many  wonderful  tales  of 


58  OF    THE  HOUSE   OF  HOLINESS 

great  adventures.  When  he  had  in  this  way  won 
our  regard,  he  inquired  with  a  show  of  friendship 
of  our  condition,  and  when  he  had  heard  the  same, 
and  knew  that  we  suffered  not  a  httle  distress  in 
this  matter  of  love,  for  I,  too,  was  not  less  troubled 
in  this  respect  than  was  my  friend,  he  began  to  talk 
to  us  in  the  most  gloomy  fashion,  taking  from  us  all 
hope  of  rehef,  and  in  the  end  counselHng  us  to  end 
our  troubles  with  death.  And  that  we  might  do  this 
the  more  easily,  he  gave  to  me  this  rope  and  to  Sir 
Terwin  a  rusty  knife.  With  this  said  knife  Sir  Ter- 
win,  unhappy  man  that  he  was,  forthwith  slew 
himself;  but  I,  whether  I  was  more  faint  of  heart 
or  more  fortunate  I  know  not,  fled  away  with  all 
speed." 

^^I  would  see  this  fellow,''  said  the  Red-Cross 
Knight,  "and  deal  with  him  according  to  his 
deserts." 

"Nay,"  said  the  other,  whose  name  was  Tre-^ 
visan,  "I  counsel  you  not  to  go  within  hearing  of 
his  speech,  so  powerful  is  he  to  persuade."  And 
when  the  Red-Cross  Knight  was  urgent  to  go,  Sir 
Tre visan  answered:  "To  do  your  pleasure,  friend, 
I  will  show  the  place,  but  I  myself  would  sooner  die 
than  enter." 

So  they  two  rode  together,  and  the  Lady  Una 
with  them,  till  they  came  to  the  place.  It  was  a 
gloomy  cave  in  the  side  of  a  rock,  on  the  top  of 
which  there  sat  an  owl  making  a  doleful  screech. 
By  the  side  of  the  cave  were  stocks  of  trees  without 
leaf  or  fruit,  but  with  the  carcases  of  men  hanging 


OF   THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS  59 

upon  them,  and  on  the  ground  beneath  were  other 
bodies,  which  had  fallen  down  by  lapse  of  years. 
Sir  Trevisan  would  have  fled  when  he  saw  the 
place,  but  the  other  would  not  suffer  it.  They 
entered  the  cave  and  saw  the  man  sitting  on  the 
ground  within.  His  grisly  hair  fell  in  long  locks 
about  his  neck,  and  his  eyes  were  deadly  dull  and 
his  cheeks  sunken,  as  if  it  were  with  hunger  and 
grief.  His  garments  were  dirty  and  patched,  being 
fastened  together  with  thorns.  And  on  the  ground 
beside  him  there  lay  the  corpse  of  a  man,  newly 
slain,  whose  blood  had  not  yet  ceased  to  flow  from 
the  wound.  Then  said  the  Red-Cross  Knight, 
"What  say  you,  wicked  man,  why  you  should  not 
be  straightway  judged  for  the  evil  deed  which  you 
have  done  ?"  "What  words  are  these,  stranger  ?'' 
said  the  man,  "and  what  judgment  is  this  ?  Why 
should  he  live  who  desires  to  die  ?  Is  it  against 
justice  that  a  man  should  have  his  due  ?  Or, 
again,  to  speak  of  charity  rather  than  justice,  is  it 
not  well  to  help  him  over  that  comes  to  a  great 
flood,  or  to  free  the  feet  that  stick  fast  in  the  mire  ? 
He  that  lies  there  enjoys  the  rest  which  you  desire 
and  cannot  have.  Somewhat  painful  the  passage, 
it  cannot  be  denied,  yet  how  great  and  how  sweet 
the  rest!  Is  it  not  well  to  endure  short  pain  for 
so  long  a  happiness  ?  Sleep  after  toil,  port  after 
stormy  seas,  ease  after  war,  death  after  Hfe,  what 
better  can  you  ask  ?  " 

"Nay,"    answered    the    Knight,    "the    time    of    a 
man's  life  is  ordered,    No  one  may  shorten  it  at 


6o  OF   THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS 

his  will;  -no,  nor  any  soldier  quit  the  post  at  which 
he  has  been  set.'* 

^'Say  you  so?"  replied  the  other.  "If  all  things 
have  their  appointed  end,  who  shall  deny  that  the 
end  which  you  shall  yourself  set  is  of  the  things 
appointed  by  Fate  ?  Remember  also  this :  the 
longer  the  life  the  more  the  sin,  and  the  more  the 
sin  the  greater  the  punishment.  Once  you  have 
missed  the  right  way  —  and  who  has  not  missed 
it  ?  —  the  further  you  stray.  And  have  you  not 
strayed,  Sir  Knight  ?  Bethink  you  what  you  have 
endured,  and  what  you  have  done  amiss.  What 
of  the  lady  whom  you  swore  to  champion  and  so 
shamefully  deserted  ?  What  of  the  false  Duessa 
to  whom  you  so  basely  pledged  yourself  ?  Does 
not  the  law  say,  'He  that  sins  shall  die'?  Die, 
therefore,  as  becomes  a  brave  man,  without  delay, 
and  of  your  own  accord." 

The  Knight  was  greatly  troubled  by  these 
words,  for  indeed  there  were  many  things  of  which 
his  conscience  accused  him,  so  that  he  trembled 
and  grew  faint,  which,  when  the  Fiend  perceived, 
he  showed  him  a  picture  in  which  was  set  forth  the 
sufferings  of  lost  souls ;  and,  after  this,  perceiving 
him  to  be  yet  more  confounded,  he  brought  to 
him  a  sword,  and  poison,  and  a  rope,  bidding  him 
choose  the  death  by  which  he  would  rather  die. 
And  when  the  Knight  took  none  of  these,  he  put 
into  his  hand  a  sharp  knife.  Once  and  again  did  the 
Knight  lift  it  up  as  if  to  strike;  'but  when  the  Lady 
Una  saw  it,  she  snatched  the  knife  out  of  his  hand, 


OF    THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS  6i 

crying,  "Fie,  fie  on  thee,  faint  hearted!  Is  this 
the  battle  which  you  promised  to  fight  against  the 
dragon  of  the  fiery  mouth?  Come  away;  let  not 
these  idle  words  dismay  your  heart.  You  are 
chosen  to  a  great  work;  why  should  you  despair? 
Surely  Mercy  rejoices  against  Judgment,  and  the 
greater  the  need,  the  greater  the  grace.  Come,  let 
us  leave  this  accursed  place."  Then  the  Knight 
rose  up  and  departed.  And  when  the  Fiend  saw 
him  depart,  he  took  a  halter  and  put  it  round  his 
neck,  and  was  fain  to  hang  himself.  But  this  he 
could  not  do;  many  times  had  he  essayed  the  same, 
but  <  had  ever  failed.  Ca^r>To^ 

As  they  journeyed  on  the  Lady  Una  perceived 
that  her  Knight,  for  all  that  he  was  healed  of  his 
sickness,  was  feeble  and  faint,  and  unfit  for  combat, 
if  such  should  come  in  his  way.  Now  she  knew 
of  an  ancient  house  of  rest  which  was  in  those 
parts  where  he  might  have  refreshment  and  re- 
cover his  strength.  Tho^  bjoatgasLxinme  was  Gsetta^' 
which,  being  interpreted,  is  Heavenly, _  ^^jad-  -she 
had  three  daughters  —  Fidelia  and  vSperanza  and 
Charissa,  the  last  a  matron  with  fair  children,  the 
others  maidens  promised  in  marriage.  There  the 
Knight  tarried  many  days.  Much  discipline  did 
he  endure  for  the  removing  of  his  faults  and 
weaknesses,  and  much  comfort  also  was  ministered 
to  him,  and  many  things  was  he  taught.  And 
when  his  heart  had  been  thus  strengthened  and 
purified,  then  did  the  Lady  Caelia  commend  him 
to    the    care    of    a    most    venerable    sire    who    was 


62  OF   THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS 

chief  among  her  ministers.  The  same  showed 
him  many  fair  and  noble  sights,  and  last  of  all, 
on  a  mountain  side,  a  way  that  was  both  steep 
and  long,  and  at  the  end  of  the  way  a  fair  city, 
whose  walls  were  builded  high  of  pearls  and  all 
manner  of  precious  stones.  And  as  the  Knight 
gazed  thereat,  he  saw  angels  ascending  thereto 
and  descending  therefrom.  Then  said  he  to  his 
guide:  "Tell  me,  sir,  what  city  do  I  see 
yonder?"  ''That,"  answered  he,  ''is  the  New 
Jerusalem  which  God  has  built  as  a  dwelling- 
place  for  his  children."  "Verily,"  said  the  Knight, 
"I  thought  that  Cleopolis,  the  abode  of  the  great 
Gloriana,  was  the  fairest  of  all  cities.  But  this 
does  far  excel  it."  "Yea,"  answered  the  holy 
man,  "that  is  true  beyond  all  doubt;  and  yet 
this  same  Cleopolis  is  worthy  to  be  the  abode  of 
all  true  knights,  and  the  service  of  Queen  Gloriana 
a  most  honourable  thing.  And  you,  fair  sir,  have 
chosen  a  good  part,  rendering  thus  obedience  to 
her  command,  and  succouring  on  her  behalf  this 
distressed  lady.  And  I  give  you  this  counsel: 
When  you  have  won  your  great  victory,  and  have 
hung  your  shield  high  among  the  shields  of  the 
most  famous  knights  of  the  world,  then  turn  your 
thoughts  to  better  things;  wash  your  hands  clean 
from  the  stain  of  blood,  for  blood,  though  it  be 
shed  in  a  righteous  cause,  must  make  a  stain.  So 
shall  you  tread  the  steep  and  narrow  path  which 
leads  to  this  fair  city,  the  New  Jerusalem.  There 
is   a   mansion   prepared    for   you.    Thus   you    shall 


OF   THE  HOUSE  OF  HOLINESS  63 

be  numbered  among  the  saints,  and  shall  be  the 
friend  and  patron  of  the  land  which  gave  you 
birth,  having  for  your  style  and  title  Saint 
George  of  England."  Then  said  the  Knight, 
*'Dare  I  hope,  being  such  as  I  am,  to  attain  to 
such  a  grace?"  ^^Yea,"  said  the  Sage,  "others 
of  the  Hke  degree  have  so  attained."  "But  must 
I  leave  behind  all  the  delights  of  v^ar  and  love?" 
"Be  content,"  answered  the  Sage;  "in  that  joy 
are  all  joys  fulfilled."  "But,"  said  the  Knight, 
"if  this  world  is  so  vain  a  thing,  why  should  I 
turn  to  it  again?  May  I  not  abide  here  in  peace 
till  I  can  set  forth  on  that  last  voyage?"  "Nay," 
said  the  Sage,  "that  may  not  be.  Thou  must 
maintain  this  lady's  cause,  and  do  the  work  that 
has  been  committed  to  you.  But  now  learn  the 
secret  of  your  birth.  You  are  of  the  ancient 
race  of  British  kings;  but  a  fairy  stole  you  from 
your  cradle,  and  laid  you  in  a  furrow.  There  a 
certain  ploughman  found .  you,  and,  designing  to 
bring  you  up  to  his  own  craft,  called  you 
George,  which  is  by  interpretation,  ^worker  of  the 
earth.'" 

So  the  Knight  went  back   to    Cselia's    abode    not 
a  little  comforted  and  encouraged. 


CHAPTER  X 

OF  THE  SLAYING  OF  THE  DRAGON 

THE  time  was  now  come  when  the  Red-Cross 
Knight  must  perform  the  task  which  he  had 
taken  in  hand.  He  departed  therefore  from  the 
House  of  Rest;  nor  had  he  journeyed  far  when  the 
Lady  Una  said  to  him:  "See  now  the  brazen 
tower  in  which  my  father  and  mother  are  im- 
prisoned for  fear  of  the  dragon,  and  lo !  there  is 
the  watchman  on  the  wall  waiting  for  good  tidings." 
Scarcely  had  she  spoken  when  they  heard  a  dread- 
ful sound  of  roaring,  and,  looking,  they  saw  the 
dragon  lying  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  hill,  and  he 
was  like  a  hill  himself,  so  great  he  was.  Nor  did 
he  fail  to  note  the  glitter  of  arms,  for  he  was  a 
watchful  beast,  and  made  all  haste  to  meet  his 
enemy. 

Then  said  the  Knight  to  Una:  "The  hour  is 
come;  stand  aside  on  yonder  hill  where  you  may 
watch  the  battle  and  be  safe  yourself." 

Meanwhile  the  dragon  came  on,  half  flying  and 
half  on  foot,  such  haste  did  he  make.  Never  was 
seen  upon  the  earth  so  terrible  a  beast.  He  looked 
like  to  a  mountain  as  he  came,  so  much  of  the  earth 
did  he  cover,  so  high  did  he  rear  himself  in  air,  so 

64 


OF   THE  SLAYING  OF   THE  DRAGON  65 

broad  a  shadow  did  he  cast.  He  was  covered  all 
over  with  scales  as  of  brass  or  iron,  fitting  so  close 
together  that  neither  edge  of  sword  nor  point  of 
spear  could  pierce  them.  On  either  side  he  spread 
out  two  great  wings  like  to  the  sails  of  some  tall 
ship.  Behind  was  a  great  tail,  wound  in  a  hundred 
folds  and  covering  full  three  furlongs.  Huge  knots 
it  had,  each  like  to  a  shield,  and  at  the  end  were 
two  great  stings,  armed  each  with  deadliest  poison. 
But  more  cruel  even  than  the  stings  were  his  claws, 
so  mighty  were  they  and  so  sharp  to  rend  asunder 
all  that  they  should  touch ;  and  yet  more  cruel  than 
his  claws  was  his  monstrous  head,  with  rows  of 
teeth,  strong  as  iron,  set  in  either  jaw,  while  out  of  his 
throat  came  forth  a  smoking  breath  with  sulphurous 
stench.  Deep  set  in  his  head  were  his  two  great 
eyes,  large  as  shields  and  burning  with  wrath  as 
with  fire,  like  to  two  broad  beacons  set  upon  a  hill 
to  give  warning  of  the  foe's  approach  to  all  the 
shires  around. 

Such  was  the  dragon  to  behold,  and  as  he  came 
on  he  might  be  seen  to  rear  his  neck  as  in  pride, 
while  his  scales  bristled  with  anger  —  a  dreadful  sight, 
which  made  even  the  Knight's  bold  heart  grow  cold 
for  a  space  with  fear.  But  not  the  less  boldly  did 
he  address  himself  to  the  fight.  Laying  his  spear 
in  rest  he  charged  with  all  his  might.  Full  on  the 
monster's  carcase  struck  the  spear,  but  could  not 
pierce  those  scales,  so  stout  and  closely  set  they 
were.  Only  so  shrewd  was  the  blow  that  the 
dragon  felt  the  shock  within:    never  had  such  been 


66  OF    THE  SLAYING   OF   THE  DRAGON 

dealt  to  him  before,  though  he  had  met  many  a 
gallant  knight  in  combat.  So  he  spread  wide  his 
wings,  and,  Hfting  himself  in  air,  circled  round  till, 
swooping  down,  he  seized  Knight  and  steed"  with 
his  claws  and  lifted  them  from  the  earth.  For  a 
whole  bow-shot's  length  he  carried  them,  but  then 
was  constrained  to  loose  them,  so  fierce  the  struggle 
which  they  made.  So  you  may  see  a  hawk,  when 
he  has  pounced  upon  some  bird  that  is  too  heavy 
for  his  flight,  carry  his  prey  awhile,  but  is  then  con- 
strained to  drop  him  from  his  claws.  Again  did 
the  Knight,  so  restored  to  the  earth,  charge  his  foe. 
Again  did  the  spear  glance  aside,  though  there  was 
the  force  as  of  three  men  in  the  blow.  Yet  was  not 
the  thrust  all  in  vain.  So  fierce  was  the  shock  that 
the  dragon  was  constrained  to  raise  his  wing,  and 
there,  where  the  flesh  was  bare  of  shelter,  the  spear 
point  made  a  grisly  wound.  The  beast  caught  the 
spear  shaft  with  his  claws  and  brake  it  short,  but 
the  head  stuck  fast,  while  the  blood  poured  out 
amain.  Then,  in  his  rage,  he  vomited  forth  great 
flames,  of  fire,  and,  bending  round  his  tail,  caught  the 
Knight's  horse  by  the  legs,  and  he,  fiercely  struggling 
to  free  himself,  threw  his  rider  to  the  ground.  Ill 
content  with  this  fall,  for  it  seemed  as  a  dishonour 
to  him,  he  snatched  his  sword  —  of  his  spear  he  had 
been  bereft  —  and  smote  the  dragon  on  his  crest. 
The  crest  did  not  yield  to  the  blow,  so  stoutly  was 
it.  cased  about,  but  the  creature  felt  the  shock 
through  all  his  mighty  frame.  Yet  again  the  Knight 
smote  him,  and  once  more  the  sword  glanced  aside 


OF   THE  SLAYING  OF   THE  DRAGON  67 

as  if  from  a  rock  of  adamant,  yet  was  not  the  labour 
spent  in  vain,  for  now  the  beast,  seeking  to  avoid 
his  enemy,  would  have  raised  himself  in  air,  but 
that  the  wounded  wing  could  not  perform  its  office. 
Then,  in  his  fury,  he  brayed  aloud,  and  vomited 
forth  from  his  throat  so  fierce  a  flame  that  it 
scorched  the  face  of  the  Knight,  and  set  his  beard 
on  fire,  and  seared  his  flesh  through  his  armour. 
Grievous  was  the  pain,  and  scarcely  to  be  borne, 
not  less  than  that  which  Hercules  of  old  endured 
when  the  fiery  robe  steeped  in  the  Centaur's  blood 
wrapped  him  round. ^  He  stood  astonished  and 
helpless.  And  when  the  dragon  saw  how  he  fared 
he  dealt  him  a  great  blow  with  his  tail,  and  so 
brought  him  headlong  to  the  ground.  Then,  indeed, 
it  had  gone  ill  with  him,  but  for  the  happy  chance 
that  behind  him  there  was  a  spring  which  sent  forth 
a  stream  of  water,  silvery  bright  and  of  great 
virtue  for  the  healing  of  all  wounds  and  sicknesses. 
Men  in  the  old  time,  before  the  dragon  had  wasted 
the  land,  called  it  the  WdLQ^iife,  and  though  it 
was  now  for  the  most  part  forgotten,  yet  had  it  not 
lost  its  healing  powers.  It  could  restore  him  that 
was   wasted   with   sickness,  ay,  and   raise   the  dead. 

*  The  story  may  be  read  at  length  in  Stories  from  the  Greek  Trage- 
dians. Briefly  put,  it  is  this :  Hercules  slew  the  Centaur  who  would 
have  carried  off  his  promised  wife.  The  dying  monster  gave  his 
mantle,  dyed  as  it  was  with  his  blood,  to  the  woman,  saying:  "Keep 
this  as  my  last  gift :  it  will  be  a  sure  means  of  keeping  your  husband's 
love."  In  after  years  the  woman,  thinking  that  her  husband  had 
ceased  to  love  her,  sent  him  the  robe  as  a  gift,  and  he,  putting  it  on, 
was  so  grievously  burned  by  the  poison  that  he  died. 


68  OF  THE  SLAYING   OF  THE  DRAGON 

There  was  no  spring  on  earth  that  could  be  matched 
with  it.  But  of  this  the  dragon  was  unaware  —  how 
should  he  know  of  such  things  ?  —  only  when  he  saw 
his  adversary  fall  headlong  into  the  water  he  clapped 
his  wings  for  joy.  This  the  Lady  Una  saw  from 
the  hill  whereon  she  sat  watching  the  fight.  Sorely 
did  it  dismay  her.  Nevertheless  she  did  not  wholly 
lose  her  hope,  but  prayed  all  night  to  God  that  it 
might  yet  be  well  with  the  Knight. 

When  the  next  morning  dawned  in  the  sky  she 
looked,  and  lo !  her  champion  stood  all  refreshed 
and  ready  for  the  fray.  Nor  did  the  dragon  draw 
back  from  the  encounter.  Straightway  the  Knight, 
lifting  high  his  sword,  dealt  a  great  blow  at  the 
monster's  crest,  and  this  time,  whether  the  sacred 
spring  had  given  a  keener  edge  to  the  steel  or  had 
put  new  strength  into  the  arm  which  wielded  it,  it 
did  that  which  never  steel  had  done  before,  for  it 
made  a  great  yawning  wound.  Then  the  dragon, 
wrought  to  fury  by  the  pain,  lifted  his  tail  high  over 
his  head,  and  brought  down  upon  his  adversary  the 
deadly  double  sting  which  lay  in  the  end.  Through 
the  Fshield  it  made  its  way,  and  fixed  itself  in  his 
shoulder.  Grievous  was  the  smart,  but  the  Knight, 
thinking  only  of  victory  and  honour,  did  not  flinch 
beneath  it,  but,  gathering  all  his  strength,  shore  off 
the  furthest  joints  of  the  tail,  so  that  not  the  half  of 
it  was  left.  But  not  yet  was  the  battle  won.  For 
now  the  dragon  laid  his  two  mighty "  claws  upon  the 
Knight,  seizing  his  foot  with  one  and  his  shield 
with    the    other.     Sorely    was    he    now    beset,  for 


OF   THE  SLAYING  OF   THE  DRAGON  69 

though  with  a  blow  of  his  sword  he  rid  himself  of 
the  one  claw,  the  other  held  him  fast.  At  the  same 
time  there  burst  forth  from  the  monster's  mouth 
such  blasts  of  fire,  such  clouds  of  smoke,  that  he 
was  constrained  to  retire  a  little  backward,  and  so, 
retiring,  he  slipped  in  the  mire  and  fell.  Yet  the 
matter  turned  to  his  good,  for  the  same  Spring  of 
Life  refreshed  and  healed  him  as  before,  nor  did 
the  dragon  dare  to  come  near,  for  he  could  not  have 
aught  to  do  with  a  thing  so  pure  and  holy.  And 
so  the  second  day  came  to  its  ending. 

This  night  also  did  the  Lady  Una  pray  for  her 
Knight  throughout  the  hours  of  darkness,  and  the 
morning  found  her  watching  as  before.  But  with 
the  third  day  came  a  speedy  end  to  that  fierce 
encounter.  The  dragon,  full  of  rage  to  be  so 
baulked  of  his  prey,  ran  at  the  Knight  with  mouth 
wide  open  as  if  to  swallow  him  alive.  And  he  was 
not  slow  to  seize  the  occasion,  for  his  foe  had  laid 
bare  before  him  its  most  vital  part.  Right  into  the 
monster's  mouth  he  drove  his  sword  with  all  the 
strength  that  was  in  him.  Nor  had  he  need  to 
strike  again,  for  the  monster  fell  as  falls  some  cliff 
which  the  waves  of  the  sea  for  many  years  have 
worn  away.  High  and  strong  it  seems  to  stand, 
but  it  falls  far  and  wide  in  sudden  ruin.  Cxnt^l 

There  is  no  need  to  tell  in  many  words  how  the 
king  and  queen  of  that  land  came  forth  from  their 
prison  with  great  gladness,  and  how  the  people  of 
the  land  rejoiced  to  be  rid  of  so  foul  a  tyranny,  and 
how  the  Lady  Una  seemed   to  be  fairer  than  ever 


70  OF  THE  SLAYING  OF  THE  DRAGON 

when  she  came  forth  in  her  robe  of  state,  and  how 
the  Knight  and  she  were  duly  betrothed.  "Fain 
would  I  stay,"  said  the  Knight,  ''but  I  am  under 
promise  to  Queen  Gloriana  to  serVe  her  for  six 
years  against  the  infidel."  "So  be  it,"  said  the 
king  of  the  land,  "go,  keep  your  promise  as  be- 
comes a  noble  knight,  and  know  that  when  you 
shall  return  you  shall  have  my  daughter  to  wife 
and  my  kingdom  also,  for  this  I  have  ever  pur- 
posed in  my  heart,  that  he  who  should  deliver  it 
from  the  foul  tyranny  should  have  it  for  his  own, 
for  none  could  be  more  fit." 


*   CHAPTER  XI 


OF  SIR  GUYON  AND  THE  LADY  MEDINA 

ARCHIMAGE  did  not  suffer  long  from  his 
overthrow  by  Sansloy,  for  he  had  devices  at 
his  command  by  which  he  could  recover  himself 
from  all  sicknesses,  howsoever  sore  they  might  be. 
And,  being  recovered,  he  set  himself  to  do  some 
hurt  to  the  Red-Cross  Knight,  who,  by  this  time, 
had  bidden  farewell  to  the  Lady  Una,  and  was 
journeying  to  render  service  to  Queen  Gloriana. 

As  he  was  travelling  with  this  purpose  in  his 
heart,  he  came  upon  a  very  noble  knight,  clad  in 
armour  from  top  to  toe,  who  was  riding  slowly 
along  the  road,  reigning  back  his  horse's  pace  to 
suit  the  steps  of  a  venerable  pilgrim,  who  journeyed 
by  his  side.  Archimage  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
neck  of  the  knight's  horse  and  said:  ^' Sir  Knight, 
I  pray  you  to  help  one  who  is  sadly  in  need  of 
succour  for  himself  and  for  another,  of  whom  he  is 
in  charge."  And  while  he  spoke  he  made  great  pre- 
tence of  fear  and  trouble,  trembling  and  weeping. 

^' Speak  on,"  answered  Sir  Guyon,  for  this  was 
the  knight's  name.  "Speak  on,  and  I  will  not  fail 
to  help  you,  and  the  other  of  whom  you  speak." 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Archimage,  "I  am  a  squire,  and 
I    have    a    lady    in    charge    to    deliver    her    to    her 

71 


72      OF  SIR   GUYON  AND   THE  LADY  MEDINA 

parents,  but  there  is  a  certain  evil-minded  Knight 
who  hinders  me.  I  know  not  what  I  shall  do,  and 
she  goes  in  deadly  fear  that  some  great  harm  will 
happen  to  her." 

"And  where  is  the  lady  ?"  asked  Sir  Guy  on. 

*Xome,  sir,"  the  false  squire  made  answer, 
"and  I  will  bring  you  to  her."  So  the  two  went 
together,  and  found  a  lady  sitting  under  a  tree, 
weeping  sore,  with  her  garments  all  dishevelled 
and  torn. 

"Fair  lady,"  said  Sir  Guyon,  "it  troubles  me 
much  to  see  you  in  this  plight.  But  take  heart;  I 
will  surely  call  him  who  has  done  you  any  wrong 
to  strict  account.     But  let  me  hear  your  complaint." 

So  she  told  him  her  tale.  And  when  she  had 
ended  he  said:  "But  who  is  this  man;  by  what 
name  or  by  what  signs  shall  I  know  him  ?" 

"His  name,"  said  she,  "I  know  not;  but  this  I 
know,  that  he  rode  upon  a  steed  of  dappled  grey, 
and  that  he  carried  a  shield  of  silver  with  a  red 
cross  upon   it." 

"Now  by  my  head,"  cried  Sir  Guyon,  "I 
know  this  same  Knight,  and  I  wonder  such  that  he 
should  have  behaved  so  ill.  He  is  a  good  Knight 
and  a  true,  and,  I  hear,  has  won  great  renown  in 
the  cause  of  a  fair  lady.  I  was  myself  present  in 
the  Queen's  court  when  he  took  this  task  upon 
himself,  which  he  has  now  performed  with  great 
honour.  Nevertheless,  I  will  try  him  in  this  matter, 
and  he  must  needs  either  show  that  he  is  free  from 
blame,  or  make  due  amends." 


OF  SIR  GUYON  AND   THE  LADY  MEDINA      73 

Now  she  that  made  all  this  show  of  grief  was 
the  false  Duessa,  and  Archimage  had  found  her 
wandering  in  miserable  pHght  after  Prince  Arthur 
had  dealt  with  her  as  has  been  told  above.  And 
having  found  her,  he  decked  her  out  with  robes  and 
ornaments,  and  made  her  to  appear  passing  fair, 
such  arts  he  had.  This  he  did  because  she  helped 
him  much  when  he  would  tempt  a  knight  into  evil 
ways. 

''And  now,  squire,"  said  Sir  Guyon,  "can  you 
lead  me  to  the  place  where  the  Knight  of  whom  you 
make  this  complaint  may  be  found?" 

"That  can  I,"  said  Archimage;  and  he  led  him 
to  a  shady  valley  hard  by,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
a  stream  both  clear  and  cold,  and  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream  sat  a  knight  with  his  helmet  unlaced, 
who  drank  of  the  water  as  one  who  was  resting 
after  a  long  journey.  "Sir,"  said  Archimage, 
"yonder  is  the  evil  Knight;  he  would  fain  hide 
himself  from  the  punishment  of  his  deeds." 

Then  Sir  Guyon  addressed  himself  to  the  fight, 
and  the  Red-Cross  Knight  likewise.  But  ere  they 
encountered  each  other  they  stayed  their  hands: 
"Pardon  me,  fair  sir,  that  I  had  well-nigh  set  my 
spear  against  the  sacred  badge  which  you  bear 
upon  your  shield." 

"And  I,  too,"  answered  the  Red-Cross  Knight, 
"would  likewise  crave  pardon  for  like  violence  to 
that  fair  image  of  a  maiden  which  is  your  device." 

Then  they  held  converse  together.  Sir  Guyon 
told  his  tale,  but  when  he  had  ended  it  he  looked, 


74      OF  SIR  GUYON  AND   THE  LADY  MEDINA 

and  lo!  the  false  squire,  the  deceiver  Archimage, 
had  fled,  knowing  that  his  device  had  come  to 
naught.  And  now  the  pilgrim  that  bore  Sir  Guyon 
company  came  up,  and  when  he  saw  the  Red-Cross 
Knight,  he  said:  "Fair  son,  God  give  you  praise 
and  peace  for  ever.  You  indeed  have  won  your 
place;   but  ours  is  yet  to  win." 

"His  be  the  praise,'^  answered  the  Red-Cross 
Knight,  "by  whose  grace  I  am  what  I  am."  So 
they  parted  with  much  courtesy,  going  each  his 
several  way. 

After  a  while  they  came  to  a  fair  castle  by  the 
sea  where  the  Lady  Medina  had  her  dwelling,  Sir 
Guyon  toiling  painfully  on  foot,  because,  when  he 
was  helping  an  unhappy  traveller,  a  knave  had 
stolen  away  his  horse.  This  Lady  Medina  was 
one  of  three  sisters,  and  of  the  three  Elissa  was 
the  eldest  and  Perissa  the  youngest.  These  two 
were  always  at  variance,  not  a  little  with  Medina, 
but  still  more  with  each  other,  and  she  being  always 
of  an  equal  mind,  and  wise  conduct,  had  the  chief 
authority  in  the  place,  though,  indeed,  their  father 
had  left  it  to  the  three  in  equal  shares.  Elissa 
had  for  lover  a  certain  Sir  Hudibras,  a  famous 
knight,  but  in  deeds  scarce  equal  to  his  high 
repute.  He  had  a  most  mighty  body  and  sturdy 
Hmbs,  but  his  wit  was  small.  Perissa' s  knight  was 
Sansloy,  of  whom  mention  has  already  been  made. 
Never  was  man  more  reckless,  indeed,  more  care- 
less of  right  and  wrong.  So  soon  as  these  two 
heard    that    a    stranger    knight    was    come    to    the 


OF  SIR  GUYON  AND  THE  LADY  MEDINA      75 

castle,  then  they  issued  forth  to  fight  with  him,  their 
ladies  following;  yet  such  was  their  folly  that  even 
on  the  way  they  fell  out  and  joined  in  deadly  fray,  to 
the  great  disturbance  of  the  house.  Much  did  Sir 
Guyon  marvel  as,  entering  the  hall,  he  saw  the  fray. 

^^This,"  said  he  to  himself,  ^^must  have  an 
end,"  and,  carrying  his  shield  on  his  left  arm  and 
with  his  right  hand  unsheathing  his  sword,  he  ran 
in  between  the  two.  They  with  one  consent  turned 
their  arms  against  him,  just  as  a  bear  and  tiger 
in  the  desert  plains  of  Africa,  when  some  traveller 
comes  in  sight,  leave  their  strife  and  fall  upon  him 
with  one  mind.  It  was  a  strange  fight  indeed,  and 
Sir  Guyon  had  fared  ill,  but  for  his  surpassing 
strength  and  courage,  and  even  these  might  have 
failed  him  in  a  conflict  so  unequal,  but  that  the 
Lady  Medina,  hearing  in  her  bower  of  what  had 
befallen,  ran  forth,  with  bare  bosom  and  dishevelled 
hair,  and  fell  on  her  knees  and  besought  them  to 
abate  their  strife:  *^Now,  my  lords!"  she  cried, 
"by  the  mothers  that  bare  you,  and  by  the  love 
that  you  have  for  your  fair  ladies,  and  by  the 
knighthood  to  which  you  owe  your  homage,  I 
beseech  you  to  put  away  this  fury  and  to  be  at 
peace  among  yourselves."  So  she  besought  them, 
and  though  the  two  sisters  stood  by,  not  helping  a 
whit,  but  rather  stirring  up  each  her  champion  to 
fiercer  wrath,  she  prevailed.  The  knights  let  fall 
their  swords,  and  bowed  their  heads  before  her, 
and  vowed  to  do  her  bidding.  Then  she,  fearing 
that   their   resolve   might   be   unstable,    bound    them 


76      OF  SIR  GUYON  AND   THE  LADY  MEDINA 

by  a  treaty,  which  they,  on  their  part,  swore,  on 
their  knightly  honour,  that  they  would  keep  for  all 
time  to  come. 

This  done  she  bade  them  all,  both  knights  and 
ladies,  to  a  fair  banquet.  And  when  they  had  had 
enough  of  meat  and  drink,  she  said:  "Tell  us. 
Sir  Knight,  on  what  errand  you  are  come  and 
what  end  you  seek." 

Then  said  Sir  Guyon:  "What  you  ask  brings 
to  my  mind  that  great  Queen,  fairest  and  best  of  all 
that  are  in  the  wide  world.  She  is  wont  to  make  a 
great  feast  on  the  first  day  of  the  New  Year,  to 
which  come  all  knights  that  seek  adventure  and 
desire  to  gain  honour  for  themselves.  At  this  feast, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  self-same  year,  I  was 
present;  and  it  came  to  pass  that  this  pilgrim 
whom  you  have  bidden  with  me  to  your  feast, 
stood  forth  before  the  Queen,  and  made  his  com- 
plaint of  a  certain  wicked  fairy  that  wasted  the 
land  wherein  he  dwelt,  and  wrought  great  damage 
to  its  inhabitants.  And  when  he  had  ended  the 
Queen  set  this  task  to  me,  unworthy  as  I  am. 
Nor  did  I  refuse  to  take  it  in  hand.  Now  the 
name  of  this  wicked  fairy  is  Acrasia.  Three  times 
has  the  moon  waxed  and  waned  since  that  day, 
and  I  have  already  seen  full  proofs  of  the  mischief 
which  she  works.  To  subdue  her,  therefore,  and  to 
bring  her  captive  into  the  presence  of  Queen  Gloriana 
is  the  purpose  which  I  set  before  myself." 

Then,  the  night  being  now  far  spent,  all  the 
guests  betook  themselves  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME   INTO  GREAT  PERIL 

MANY  perils  did  Sir  Guyon  encounter,  which 
it  would  take  too  long  time  to  tell.  Nor 
were  there  perils  only  of  battle,  such  as  befell  in 
the  meeting  of  pagan  knights  and  the  like.  For 
such  he  was  well  prepared;  never  did  sturdier 
champion  lay  spear  in  rest  or  wage  war  at  close 
quarters  with  his  sword.  Force  could  not  over- 
come him,  but  he  could  be  led  astray  by  fraud. 
So  it  was  when,  in  his  journeyings,  he  came  to  a 
broad  water,  which  seemed  to  bar  his  way.  While 
he  stood  at  the  water's  brink,  wondering  how  he 
might  win  his  way  farther,  suddenly  there  was 
seen  hard  by  a  little  boat  rowed  by  a  fair  damsel. 
When  he  had  told  his  need  she  said:  ^*Be  content, 
fair  sir;  step  you  aboard  and  I  will  take  you  to  the 
place  which  you  desire." 

So  Sir  Guyon,  nothing  doubting,  stepped  into 
the  boat.  But  when  he  would  have  taken  his 
guide,  the  pilgrim,  with  him,  he  was  denied. 
^'Nay,  nay,"  said  the  damsel,  "we  have  not 
space  for  the  old  man  on  this  journey."  And 
even  while  she  was  speaking  the  boat  was  already 
far  from  the  land,  for  indeed  it  was  a  magic  craft; 
nor  could  he  even  say  farewell. 

77 


78     HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL 

The  two  had  pleasant  converse  awhile,  for  the 
damsel  was  gay  and  debonair,  and  the  knight 
courteous.  Nevertheless,  he  somewhat  misliked 
her  manner,  and  when  in  a  short  space  they 
came  to  the  other  side  of  the  water,  he  perceived 
that  he  had  been  led  astray,  and  was  not  a  little 
displeased.  "Lady,"  said  he,  "you  have  done 
me  a  wrong.  This  is  not  the  place  which  I 
sought;  I  did  not  think  when  I  followed  your 
bidding  that  you  would  so  deceive  me.'' 

"Sir  Knight,"  she  answered,  "he  that  will 
travel  by  water  cannot  always  command  his  way; 
winds  and  waves  will  not  answer  to  his  call:  the 
sea  is  wide,  and  'tis  easy  to  go  astray  thereon. 
Yet  here,  methinks,  you  may  abide  awhile  in 
peace." 

So  Sir  Guyon  stepped  upon  the  shore,  though 
he  was  but  half-content  to  find  himself  in  such  a 
plight.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  but  perceive 
that  it  was  a  right  pleasant  place  to  which  he 
had  come,  for  the  ground  was  covered  with 
flowers,  and  the  trees  were  green  with  the  fresh 
leaves  of  spring,  and  the  sweet  singing  of  birds 
was  heard  on  every  side.  And  fairer  and  more 
pleasant  than  all  else  was  the  damsel  of  the  boat; 
nevertheless,  Sir  Guyon  was  ever  on  the  watch, 
nor  would  he  suffer  himself  to  be  beguiled. 
"Maybe,"  he  said  to  himself,  "this  fair  dame 
designs  to  turn  me  from  my  quest.  Why  did 
she,  as  by  design,  part  me  from  my  guide?  Why 
did   she   turn   me   aside   from   the  way  in  which   I 


HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL      79 

desired  to  go?  This  was  more,  I  doubt  not,  than 
an  idle  whim."  She,  on  the  other  hand,  perceived 
that  she  had  failed  of  her  intent,  and  was,  in  truth, 
as  willing  that  he  should  go  as  he  was  eager  to 
depart.  So  after  a  while  she  said:  ''Fair  knight, 
I  perceive  that  it  irks  you  to  abide  in  this  place. 
Suffer  me,  therefore,  to  carry  you  to  the  other 
shore." 

Well  content,  he  stepped  into  the  boat,  and 
was  ferried  across  in  the  shortest  space  of  time. 
So  he  passed  through  this  peril,  it  seemed,  without 
hurt,  save  indeed  that  he  had  lost  his  guide,  for 
the  damsel  in  her  craft  took  him  to  a  place  far 
from  where  the  guide  had  been  left;  and  this 
losing  of  the  guide  was,  as  will  be  seen,  a  very 
sore  hurt  indeed. 

After  a  while  he  came  to  a  gloomy  valley 
covered  in  on  all  sides  from  the  light  of  heaven 
with  the  thick  branches  of  trees.  And  here,  in 
the  deepest  and  darkest  shade,  he  saw  sitting  a 
man  of  a  most  uncouth  and  savage  aspect,  having 
his  face  all  dark  with  smoke,  and  his  eyes  bleared, 
and  the  hair  of  his  head  and  his  beard  covered 
with  soot.  His  hands  were  black  as  the  hands 
of  one  who  works  in  a  forge,  and  his  nails  were 
like  to  claws.  He  had  an  iron  coat,  all  rusty 
above,  but  underneath  of  gold,  and  finely  wrought 
with  curious  devices,  though,  indeed,  it  was 
covered  with  dust  and  grime.  In  his  lap  he  had 
a  mass  of  golden  coin,  which  he  counted,  turning 
over  each  piece  as  if  he  would  feed  his  eyes  with 


8o     HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL 

the  delight  of  seeing  them.  Round  about  him 
were  great  heaps  of  gold,  some  of  them  of  rude 
ore,  not  yet  smelted  in  the  furnace,  and  some 
smelted  newly,  in  great  squares  and  ingots,  and 
others  in  round  plates  without  device;  but  for 
the  most  part  they  bore  the  devices  of  ancient 
kings  and  Caesars.  When  the  man  beheld  Sir 
Guyon  he  rose  as  in  great  fear,  as  if  he  would 
hide  this  precious  store  from  a  stranger's  eyes, 
and  began  to  pour  it  into  a  great  hole  that  was 
thereby.  But  Sir  Guyon,  leaping  forward,  caught 
him  by  the  hand,  and,  though  he  was  not  a  little 
dismayed  by  the  things  which  he  saw,  restrained 
him. 

"Man,"  he  said,  "if,  indeed,  man  you  are,  why 
sit  you  here  apart,  hiding  these  piles  of  wealth, 
and  keeping  them  from  being  rightly  used  by 
men?" 

"Truly,"  answered  the  man,  "you  are  bold 
and  careless  of  yourself  thus  to  trouble  me. 
Know  that  I  am  the  god  of  this  world,  the 
greatest  god  under  heaven.  Mammon  by  name. 
From  me  come  riches  and  renown,  powers  and 
honours,  and  all  things  which  men  covet  upon 
earth.  Know,  then,  that  if  you  will  serve  me, 
all  these  mountains  of  riches  shall  be  yours;  and 
if  these  do  not  content  you,  I  will  give  you  ten- 
fold more." 

"Mammon,"  answered  the  knight,  "in  vain 
do  you  boast  your  godhead;  in  vain  do  you  offer 
me     your     gifts.     Keep    them    for    such    as    covet 


HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL     8i 

such  idle  things,  and  look  for  a  more  fitting 
servant.  I  am  of  those  who  regard  honour  and 
strive  for  kingdoms;  fair  shields  and  steeds  gaily 
bedight  and  shining  arms  are  pleasant  to  my 
eyes." 

''Do  you  not  perceive/^  answered  Mammon, 
"O  foolish  knight,  that  money  can  furnish  all 
these  things  in  which  you  delight?  Shields,  and 
steeds,  and  arms  it  can  provide  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye;  ay,  and  crowns  and  kingdoms  also.  I 
can  throw  down  into  the  dust  him  that  sits  upon 
the  throne,  and  I  can  lift  up  to  the  throne  him  that 
lies  in  the  dust.'' 

"But  I,"  said  Sir  Guyon,  "have  other  thoughts 
of  riches;  that  infinite  mischiefs  spring  from  them 
—  strife  and  debate  and  bloodshed.  No  crowns  nor 
kingdoms  are  yours,  but  you  turn  loyal  truth  to 
treason;  you  break  the  sacred  diadem  in  pieces, 
and  rend  the  purple  robe  of  kingship.  It  is  of  you 
that  castles  are  surprised,  great  cities  sacked  and 
burned,  and  kingdoms  overthrown!'' 

Then  Mammon  waxed  wroth  and  cried:  "Why, 
then,  are  men  so  eager  to  obtain  a  thing'  so  evil? 
Why  do  they  so  complain  when  they  have  it  not, 
and  when  they  lose  it,  so  upbraid?" 

And  when  the  knight  answered  these  questions 
by  telling  of  how  in  the  old  time  man  was  content 
without  riches,  and  how  he  had  been  corrupted  by 
the  lust  of  gold  and  silver.  Mammon  replied: 
"Nay,  my  son,  let  be  these  stories  of  ancient 
days.    You  who  live  in  these  latter   times   must   be 


82     HOW  SIR   GUYON  CAME  INTO   GREAT  PERIL 

content  to  take  your  wage  for  the  work  you  do. 
Come  now,  you  shall  have  what  you  will  of  these 
riches;  and  if  you  like  them  not,  then  you  are  free 
to  refuse.  Only,  if  you  refuse,  blame  me  not 
afterwards." 

Then  said  the  knight,  for,  being  but  mortal 
man,  he  was  touched  by  the  sight  of  great  riches: 
*'I  would  not  take  aught  that  is  offered  me  unless  I 
know  that  it  has  been  rightly  got.  How  can  I  be 
assured  that  you  have  not  taken  these  things  un- 
lawfully from  the  rightful  owner?" 

^^Nay,"  cried  Mammon,  ^'that  is  but  idle  talk. 
Never  did  eye  behold  these  things,  never  did  hand 
handle  them.  I  have  kept  them  secret  both  from 
heaven  and  from  earth." 

"But,"  said  the  knight,  "what  place  is  large 
enough  to  hold  such  store,  or  safe  enough  to  keep 
it  from  robbery?" 

"Come  and  see,"  answered  Mammon.  And 
the  knight  followed  him,  but  he  had  done  more 
wisely  to  stay  behind. 

Mammon  led  him  through  the  depths  of  the 
wood,  till  they  came  to  a  secret  way  which  was 
hollowed  out  in  the  earth.  This  they  entered  and 
followed  awhile,  till  they  came  to  where  it  opened 
out  into  a  wide  plain.  Across  the  plain  there  was 
a  broad  highway  which  led  to  the  dwelling  of  Pluto. 
On  either  side  of  this  road  were  dreadful  shapes  — 
Pain  holding  an  iron  whip,  and  Strife  with  a  bloody 
knife  in  his  hand,  and  Revenge,  and  Treason,  and 
Jealousy.     Fear,    also,    was    there,    ever    trembling, 


HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL     83 

and  seeking  in  vain  where  he  might  hide  himself, 
and  Sorrow,  crouching  in  darkness,  and  Shame, 
hiding  her  face  from  every  eye.  So  they  came  at 
last  to  a  narrow  door,  which  stood  fast  shut,  with 
one  which  was  yawning  wide  open  hard  by.  The 
narrow  door  was  the  door  of  riches,  and  the  wide 
the  door  of  hell.  This  opened  to  Mammon  of  its 
own  accord;  and  Sir  Guyon  followed  him,  fearing 
nothing.  But  behind  the  knight  there  followed 
close  a  monstrous  fiend,  watching  him,  that  he 
might  do  him  to  death  if  he  should  lay  a  covetous 
hand  or  cast  a  longing  eye  on  anything  he  might 
see;  for  such  was  the  law  of  the  place.  The  walls 
and  the  floor  and  the  roof  were  all  gold,  but  covered 
with  dust  and  decay;  and  piled  up  on  every  side 
were  huge  chests  of  iron,  bound  all  of  them  with 
double  bands,  and  on  the  floor  were  the  bones  of 
dead  men,  who,  in  time  past,  had  sought  to  win 
some  spoil  for  themselves,  and  so  had  come  by  their 
death.  But  not  a  word  did  Sir  Guyon  speak.  So 
they  came  to  a  great  door  of  iron;  this,  too,  opened 
to  them  as  of  its  own  accord,  and  showed  such  a 
store  of  wealth  as  could  not  be  seen  in  all  the  world 
beside.  Then  Mammon  turned  to  the  knight  and 
said:  ^'See  now  the  happiness  of  the  world;  here  is 
that  for  which  men  strive  and  struggle.  Lo!  I 
lay  before  you  all  that  you  can  desire." 

The  knight  answered:  "I  do  refuse  your 
proffered  grace.  I  seek  not  to  be  made  happy  in 
such  fashion.  I  set  before  mine  eyes  another  happi- 
ness.    I  seek  another  end;  I  would   spend  my  life 


84     HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL 

in  brave  deeds.  I  desire  rather  to  be  lord  of 
them  who  have  riches  than  to  have  them  for 
myself." 

Mammon  gnashed  his  teeth  to  hear  such  an 
answer,  for  he  had  thought  that  the  sight  would 
overcome  the  soul  of  any  mortal  man,  and  that 
being  so  overcome  the  knight  would  be  his  prey. 
But  not  yet  did  he  give  up  all  hope.  He  led  him 
into  yet  another  chamber,  in  which  were  a  hundred 
furnaces  all  ablaze,  and  at  every  furnace  strange 
creatures  busy  at  work.  Some  worked  the  bellows 
which  raised  the  fire  to  white  heat;  and  some 
scummed  off  the  dross  from  the  molten  gold,  and 
some  stirred  it  with  great  ladles.  But  when  they 
saw  the  shape  of  mortal  man,  they  all  ceased  from 
their  work,  and  looked  at  him  with  wondering 
eyes.  And  he  was  not  a  little  dismayed  to  see 
them,  so  foul  and  hideous  were  they  to  behold. 

Then  Mammon  spoke  again:  ^'See  now  what 
mortal  eye  has  never  seen  before.  You  would 
know  whence  come  the  riches  which  men  so 
fervently  desire.  Look,  here  you  see  their  source 
and  origin.  Here  is  the  fountain  of  the  world ^s 
whole  wealth.  Think,  and  change  your  mood,  lest 
haply  hereafter  you  may  wish  and  not  be  able  to 
obtain. " 

Said  the  knight,  ^^  Mammon,  once  more  I 
refuse  the  thing  which  you  offer.  I  have  all  that 
I  need;  why  should  I  ask  for  more?  Suffer  me  to 
follow  my  own  way." 

Great  was  Mammon's   wrath    to    hear    his    offers 


HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO  GREAT  PERIL     85 

so  refused,  but  he  would  try  yet  another  temptation. 
He  took  the  Knight  into  a  very  lofty,  spacious 
chamber  in  which  was  assembled  a  great  company 
of  people  from  every  nation  under  heaven.  All  of 
them  were  pressing  forward  with  great  uproar  to 
the  chamber's  upper  end,  where,  upon  a  dais,  was 
set  a  lofty  throne.  On  the  throne  there  sat  a 
woman  gorgeously  attired,  clad  in  such  royal  robes 
as  never  were  worn  by  earthly  prince.  Right  fair 
of  face  was  she  to  behold,  of  such  a  beauty  that  she 
seemed,  as  it  were,  to  make  a  brightness  in  the 
chamber.  But  the  beauty  was  not  indeed  her 
own.  It  was  but  a  pretence,  cunningly  devised  to 
delude  the  hearts  of  men.  In  her  hand  she  held  a 
great  chain,  of  which  the  upper  end  was  fastened 
to  the  sky,  and  the  lower  went  down  into  hell. 
All  the  crowd  that  thronged  about  her  sought  to 
lay  hold  of  this  same  chain,  hoping  thereby  to  climb 
to  some  high  estate.  Some  were  fain  to  rise  by 
the  help  of  riches,  and  some  by  flattery,  and  some 
by  help  of  friendship,  but  all  thought  only  of  them- 
selves. And  they  that  were  high  kept  others 
down,  and  they  that  were  low  would  not  suffer 
others   to   rise;  every   man   was   against   his   fellow. 

Then  said  Sir  Guyon:  *'What  means  this  that 
I  see?  What  is  this  throng  that  crowds  about  the 
lady's  throne?    And  the  lady,  who  is  she?" 

Mammon  answered:  "That  fair  lady  about  whom 
these  people  crowd  is  my  own  dear  daughter.  Her 
name  is  Philotime  (which,  being  interpreted,  is 
Love   of   Honour).     She    is    the    fairest   woman   oh 


86     HOW  SIR  GUY  ON  CAME  INTO   GREAT  PERIL 

the  earth,  could  you  but  see  her  in  the  upper  air, 
for  the  darkness  of  the  place  hides  her  beauty. 
Her,  if  you  will,  you  shall  have  to  wife,  that  she 
may  advance  you  to  high  dignity." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  knight,  ''for  the 
honour  which  you  design  for  me.  But  I  am  only 
mortal  man,  and  not  fit  match  for  an  immortal 
mate.  And  were  it  otherwise,  my  troth  is  given  to 
another,  and  it  would  ill  become  a  loyal  knight  to 
break   his   faith." 

Again  was  Mammon  greatly  moved  to  wrath, 
but  he  hid  it  in  his  heart,  and  led  the  knight  into 
a  garden  full  of  herbs  and  trees,  not  such  as  earth 
puts  forth,  in  the  upper  air,  to  delight  the  souls  of 
men:  but  such  as  have  about  them  the  atmosphere 
of  death.  The  cypress  was  there,  and  the  black 
ebony,  and  hemlock,  which  unjust  Athens  gave  in 
old  times  to  Socrates,  wisest  of  mortal  men.  These 
were  gloomy  to  behold.  But  in  the  midst  was 
a  tree,  splendid  with  apples  of  gold.  Hercules 
planted  it  with  the  apples  which  he  won  from  the 
garden  of  the  daughters  of  Atlas,  and  it  bore  fruits 
which  were  the  occasions  of  strife,  such  as  that 
which  Discord  threw  among  the  guests  at  the 
marriage-feast  of  Peleus  and  Thetis.  ''For  the 
Fairest!"  was  written  on  it.  Hence  came  the 
strife  of  the  goddesses,  and  the  Judgment  of  Paris, 
and  the  stealing  of  Helen,  and  the  bringing  to  the 
ground  of  the  towers  of  Troy. 

Much  did  the  knight  marvel  to  see  the  tree, 
for  it  spread   its  branches   far  and  wide  across   the 


HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO   GREAT  PERIL     87 

garden,  and  even  beyond  the  garden's  bounds;  for 
it  was  compassed  about  with  a  great  mound.  And 
the  knight,  desiring  to  see  all  that  could  be  seen 
of  so  strange  a  place,  climbed  upon  the  bank  and 
looked.  And  lo !  there  flowed  below  it  a  dark  and 
dismal  stream,  which  men  call  the  River  of  Wailing. 
In  this  he  saw  many  miserable  creatures;  and  one 
he  noted  especially,  who  was  always  clutching  at 
the  fruit  which  hung  from  the  tree,  and  making  as 
though  he  would  drink  from  the  stream;  and  still 
the  fruit  seemed  to  draw  back  from  his  hand  and 
the  water  from  his  mouth.  The  knight,  seeing 
him  so  tormented,  asked  him  who  he  was  and  how 
he  came  to  be  in  such  a  plight. 

'^I  am  Tantalus,"  answered  the  wretch,  /^ the 
most  miserable  of  all  men;  in  old  time  I  feasted 
with  the  gods,  and  now  I  die  of  hunger  and 
thirst." 

Looking  a  little  further  he  saw  one  who  sought 
to  wash  in  the  stream  hands  covered  with  filth;  but 
for  all  that  he  washed  they  were  not  one  whit  the 
cleaner.  And  when  the  knight  inquired  of  him 
who  he  might  be,  he  answered:  "I  am  Pontius 
Pilate,  most  unjust  of  judges.  I  condemned  most 
unrighteously  the  Lord  of  Life  to  die,  and  washed 
my  hands  to  show  that  I  was  innocent  of  his  blood, 
but  in  truth  I  was  most  guilty." 

Then  Mammon,  coming  to  him  again,  said : 
^'Will  you  not  even  now  take  of  the  good  things 
which  I  offer  you,  for  yet  there  is  time?" 

But    Sir    Guyon    was    aware    of    his    guile,    and 


88     HOW  SIR  GUYON  CAME  INTO   GREAT  PERIL 

would  not.  "Take  me  back,"  he  said,  "to  the 
place  from  which  I  came,''  and  Mammon  was  con- 
strained to  obey,  for  it  was  not  permitted  to  him  to 
keep  the  knight  or  any  man  against  his  will.  He 
led  him  back,  therefore,  to  the  upper  air;  but  as 
soon  as  Sir  Guyon  felt  the  wind  blow  upon  his  face, 
for  want  of  food  and  sleep  he  fell  into  a  swoon, 
and  lay  without  sense  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OF  TWO    PAGAN  KNIGHTS 

WHILE  Sir  Guyon  was  beholding  the  wonders 
of  the  house  of  Mammon,  his  faithful  guide, 
the  pilgrim,  was  seeking  him,  and  came  by  happy 
chance,  or  leading  of  the  powers  above,  to  the 
place  where  he  lay.  Sore  troubled  he  was  to  see 
him  in  so  sore  a  plight,  for  indeed  he  lay  as  one 
that  was  dead.  Nevertheless,  feehng  his  pulse  with 
trembling  hand,  the  pilgrim  found  that  it  still  did 
beat.  Thereat  greatly  rejoicing  he  tended  him 
with  all  care  and  kindness. 

While  he  was  busy  with  this  tending,  he  lifted 
his  eyes  and  saw  two  knights  riding  towards  him 
clad  in  bright  armour  and  an  old  man  pacing  by 
their  side.  The  two  were  brothers,  Pyrochles 
and  Cymochles  by  name,  and  the  old  man  was 
Archimage.  Well  he  knew  who  they  were,  for 
Sir  Guyon  had  done  battle  with  the  two  in  the 
time  past,  and  had  vanquished  them,  nor  did  he 
doubt  that  the  old  man,  for  all  his  reverend  looks, 
was  a  wicked  sorcerer.  And  they,  too,  knew  who 
he  was,  and  that  the  knight  who  lay  upon  the 
ground  was  their  whilom  adversary.  Sir  Guyon. 
And    first    Sir   Pyrochles   cried   aloud:    "Old    man, 

89 


90  OF  TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS 

leave  that  dead  man  to  us.  A  traitor  and  a  coward 
he  was,  while  he  was  yet  alive;  and  now  he  hes 
dishonoured ! " 

"Nay,  Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  pilgrim, 
''you  do  wrong  so  to  revile  the  dead.  He  was 
a  true  knight  and  valiant  in  the  field,  as  none 
know  more  surely  than  yourself." 

Then  said  the  other  pagan,  Cymochles:  "Old 
man,  you  dote.  And,  indeed,  what  know  you  of 
knighthood  and  valour?  All  is  not  gold  that 
glitters;  nor  are  all  good  knights  that  know  how 
to  set  spear  in  rest  and  use  the  sword.  Let  a 
man  be  judged  by  his  end.  There  he  lies  dead 
on  the  field,  and  the  dead  are  nothing  worth." 

Pyrochles  spoke  again:  "Ay,  he  is  dead  and 
I  must  forego  the  vengeance  that  I  vowed  to  have 
upon  him.  Nevertheless,  what  I  can  that  will  I 
have.  I  will  despoil  him  of  his  arms.  Why  should 
a  dead  body  be  arrayed  in  so  noble  a  fashion?" 

"Nay,  Sir  Knight,"  cried  the  pilgrim,  "I  pray 
you  not  to  do  so  foul  a  deed.  'Tis  a  vile  thing  to 
rob  the  dead.  Surely  it  would  better  befit  a  noble 
knight  to  leave  these  things  to  be  the  ornament  of. 
his  tomb." 

"What  tomb?"  cried  Pyrochles,  in  his  rage;  "the 
raven  and  the  kite  are  tomb  enough  for  such  as 
he." 

Thus  speaking,  he  laid  a  rude  hand  upon  Sir 
Guyon's  shield,  and  Cymochles  began  to  unlace 
his  helmet.  But  while  they  were  so  busied,  they 
chanced    to   spy    a    knight    of    gallant    mien    and 


OF  TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS  91 

bravely  accoutred,  riding  towards  them,  with  a 
squire  behind  him,  who  carried  a  spear  of  ebony 
and  a  covered  shield.  And  Archimage,  so  cunning 
was  he,  knew  him  from  afar,  and  he  cried  to  the 
two  brothers:  "Rise,  prepare  yourselves  for  battle. 
Here  comes  the  sturdiest  knight  in  all  the  world, 
Prince  Arthur.  Many  a  pagan  has  he  laid  low  in 
battle.  You  must  use  all  your  skill  to  hold  your 
own  against  him." 

So  the  two  made  themselves  ready  for  battle. 
And  now  the  strange  knight  rode  up,  and  with  all 
courtesy  made  his  salute  to  the  company,  to  which 
greeting  the  two  brothers  made  but  a  churlish  re- 
turn. He  said  to  the  pilgrim:  "Tell  me,  reverend 
sir,  what  misfortune  has  befallen  this  knight.  Did 
he  die  in  course  of  nature,  or  by  treason,  or  in  fair 
fight?" 

Said  the  pilgrim:  "He  is  not  dead,  but  in  a 
swoon  that  has  the  Hkeness  of  death." 

Then  Prince  Arthur,  turning  to  the  two  brothers, 
said  with  all  courtesy:  "Valiant  sirs,  who,  I  doubt 
not,  have  just  complaint  against  this  knight,  who 
lies  here  dead,  or  seeming  dead  upon  the  ground, 
will  you  not  abate  your  wrath  awhile?  I  would  not 
challenge  your  right,  but  would  rather  entreat  your 
pardon  for  this  helpless  body." 

"But  who  are  you?"  said  Cymochles,  "that 
make  yourself  his  daysman?  Who  are  you  that 
would  hinder  me  from  wreaking  on  his  vile  carcase 
the  vengeance  which  I  should  have  required  had  he 
Hved?    The  man  is  dead,  but  his  offence  still  Hves." 


92  OF  TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS 

"It  is  but  true,"  said  the  Prince,  "that  evil  lives 
after  death,  and  that  the  curse  goes  down  even  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation,  so  stern  is  the  judg- 
ment of  God.  But  yet  the  knight  who  raises  his 
hand  against  the  dead,  sins  against  his  honour." 

But  Pyrochles  made  reply:  "Stranger,  you 
make  yourself  a  sharer  in  the  dead  man's  crime.'' 
And  as  he  spoke,  he  lifted  his  great  sword  and 
dealt  a  blow  which,  but  that  the  Prince's  horse 
swerved  aside,  had  surely  laid  him  on  the  earth. 
He  reeled  somewhat  in  the  saddle,  but  so  true  was 
his  seat,  still  kept  his  place. 

Great  was  his  wrath  at  such  treacherous  attack. 
"Traitor,"  he  said,  "you  have  broken  the  law  of 
arms,  so  to  strike  without  challenge  given,  and  you 
shall  suffer  such  penalty  as  befits."  So  speaking, 
he  thrust  his  spear,  and  thought  with  that  one 
thrust  to  end  the  battle.  And  so,  indeed,  it  would 
have  fallen  out,  but  for  Sir  Guyon's  shield,  which 
the  pagan  carried.  Yet  even  through  this,  with 
its  seven  folds,  did  the  spear-head  pass,  and  pierced 
Pyrochles'  shoulder,  and  drove  him  bleeding  to  the 
earth. 

When  Cymochles  saw  what  had  happened,  he 
leapt  forward  in  great  wrath,  crying:  "Now,  by 
Mahomet,  cursed  thief!  You  shall  pay  for  this 
blow!"  and  smote  him  on  the  crest  so  mightily 
that  he  had  no  chance  but  to  leave  his  saddle,  else 
had  his  head  been  cleft  in  twain.  Now  was  the 
Prince  in  no  small  distress,  for  what  could  he  do 
with  his  spear  alone  against  two  stalwart  knights? 


OF  TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS  93 

For  sword  he  had  none,  and  they  too  were  both 
fully  armed,  and  well  skilled  in  fight,  unwounded 
one,  and  the  other  wounded  indeed,  but  only 
made  thereby  more  furious.  Bravely  did  he  bear 
himself,  and  bravely  held  his  own,  wounding  now 
this  adversary  and  now  that,  yet  did  not  himself 
escape  without  hurt,  for  Cymochles  wounded  him 
sorely  in  the  side,  so  that  the  blood  flowed  out 
amain.  And  when  the  brothers  saw  it,  they  re- 
joiced greatly,  thinking  that  the  end  had  come. 
But  now  the  pilgrim,  seeing  that  the  Prince  was 
hard  bested,  and  all  for  want  of  a  sword,  came  near 
and  put  Sir  Guyon's  blade  into  his  hand,  saying, 
*^My  son,  God  bless  your  right  hand;  use  the 
sword  as  he  that  owns  it  would  have  used!" 

Right  glad  was  the  knight  to  have  this  help, 
and  advanced  himself  with  new  courage  to  his 
task.  He  smote  first  this  brother  and  then  that, 
and  both  so  fiercely  that,  though  they  were  two 
against  one,  they  could  not  hold  their  own,  but 
began  to  give  way.  Only  the  Prince  was  at  this 
disadvantage  that,  when  Pyrochles  held  out  against 
him  the  shield  of  Sir  Guyon  with  the  likeness  of 
Queen  Gloriana  on  it,  his  hand  retreated  and  fore- 
bore  the  stroke.  Once  and  again  was  the  pagan 
saved  thereby  from  instant  doom.  But  for  all  that 
the  appointed  hour  drew  nigh.  Cymochles,  think- 
ing to  end  the  battle,  smote  the  Prince  upon  the 
hauberk.  So  fierce  was  the  blow,  that  it  broke  the 
links  of  the  mail  in  twain,  and  made  the  Prince  to 
reel,    as    he    had     never    reeled     before.     But     his 


94  OF   TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS 

courage  rose  all  the  higher,  and  his  strength  seemed 
to  be  doubled.  High  in  the  air  he  Hfted  Sir 
Guyon's  sword,  and  smote  the  pagan's  helmet  so 
fiercely  that  he  shore  it  in  two,  and  the  steel  pierced 
to  the  brain,  so  that  he  fell  dying  to  the  ground. 

When  Pyrochles  beheld  what  had  befallen  his 
brother,  he  was  so  filled  with  rage  that  he  cast 
away  all  caution  and  care,  and  rushed  in  madman's 
fashion  upon  the  Prince.  And  now  might  be  seen 
how  an  evil  deed  finds  its  recompense.  The  sword 
which  the  pagan  carried  was,  in  truth,  the  Prince's 
own,  which  had  been  filched  from  him  by  craft. 
Now  Archimage  had  warned  the  knight  before, 
saying:  "Use  not  this  blade  against  its  rightful 
lord;  it  will  not  serve  your  will."  And  well  he 
knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  But  Pyrochles  had 
laughed  him  to  scorn,  saying: 

"You  think  too  much,  old  man,  of  magic  charms 
and  words." 

Yet  now  he  found  that  the  old  man's  words 
were  true.  So  perceiving  that  he  smote  to  no 
purpose,  he  threw  the  sword  down  and  leapt  upon 
the  Prince,  and  caught  him  round  the  middle  and 
thought  to  throw  him  to  the  earth.  But  he  strove 
to  no  purpose,  for  the  Prince  surpassed  him  both  in 
strength  and  in  skill,  so  that  he  was  thrown  to  the 
ground,  whereon  he  lay  helpless  as  a  bittern  in  the 
claws  of  an  eagle.  Full  of  rage  he  was,  but  he  did 
not  move  nor  cast  a  look  upon  his  conqueror.  But 
the  Prince,  full  of  courtesy  and  kindness,  said : 
"Pagan,  this  is  an  evil  day  for  you;    but  if  you  will 


OF  TWO  PAGAN  KNIGHTS  95 

give  up  your  false  faith,  and  yield  yourself  to  be  my 
liegeman  for  ever,  I  will  give  you  life  in  reward  for 
your  courage,  and  blot  out  from  my  memory  all 
your  misdeeds." 

'Tool,"  cried  the  pagan  in  his  rage,  ''I  defy 
your  gift;  use  your  fortune  as  you  will,  slay  me,  for 
I  would  not  live  at  your  behest."  And  the  Prince, 
much  against  his  will,  smote  him  that  he  died. 

And  now  Sir  Guyon,  waking  from  his  swoon, 
saw  the  pilgrim  at  his  side,  and  cried  out  with  joy, 
''Dear  friend,  for  lack  of  whose  guidance  I  have 
wandered  long,  how  gladly  do  I  see  you  again. 
But  where  are  my  shield  and  my  sword?"  Then 
the  pilgrim  told  him  what  had  befallen,  and  the 
knight  rendered  his  thanks  to  the  Prince  right 
courteously,  and  he  as  courteously  received  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OF  QUEEN  ACRASIA 

ALL  day  the  two  journeyed  together  with  much 
sweet  converse,  and,  when  it  was  evening, 
they  came  to  a  fair  castle,  of  which  the  gate  was 
fast  barred.  So  the  Prince  bade  his  squire  wind 
his  horn  under  the  castle  wall,  which  thing  he  did 
with  such  a  will,  that  a  watchman  straightway  looked 
forth  from  an  upper  storey ;  but  the  gate  was  barred 
as  before.     ^^What  want  you,  strangers?"  he  asked. 

'*We  seek  shelter  for  the  night,"  answered  the 
squire. 

"Fly,"  cried  the  man,  "fly,  my  friends,  for 
your  lives.  Willingly  would  I  give  you  shelter, 
but  this  is  no  safe  abiding  place,  so  closely  and 
fiercely  do  our  enemies  assail  us.  Truly  many 
knights,  coming  as  you  have  come  this  day,  have 
perished  miserably."  And  while  he  was  speaking 
a  thousand  villainous  creatures  swarmed  up  from 
all  the  rocks  and  caves  about,  armed  in  the 
strangest  fashion,  some  with  pikes,  and  some 
with  clubs,  and  some  with  stakes  hardened  in  the 
fire.  Fiercely  they  rushed  at  the  knights  and 
their  company,  and  for  a  while  drove  them  back 
by  mere  force  of  numbers.  But  soon  they  were 
forced    to    fly,    and    though    they    came    again    and 

96 


OF  QUEEN  ACRASIA  97 

again,  yet  before  the  night  fell  they  departed  and 
left  the  travellers  in  peace.  And  now  the  castle 
gate  was  opened  wide,  and  the  lady  of  the  place, 
Alma  by  name,  coming  to  the  door  with  a  fair 
company  of  knights  and  dames,  bade  them 
welcome.  Then  she  showed  them  her  castle, 
which  was  marvellously  well-ordered  in  all  its 
parts.  There  was  a  noble  hall  in  which  the 
guests  —  and  there  was  already  gathered  a  goodly 
company  of  knights  and  ladies  —  were  entertained ; 
and  a  library  where  there  was  a  great  store  of 
goodly  books,  and  all  other  things  which  the 
heart   of   man   could   desire. 

On  the  morrow,  Sir  Guyon  and  his  guide  set 
forth  again,  but  Prince  Arthur  tarried  behind, 
desiring  to  help  the  Lady  Alma  against  the 
enemies  who  sought  to  take  her  castle.  And  this 
he  did  in  such  a  fashion  that  she  was  troubled  no 
more  with  them.  Yet  of  his  great  deeds  I  will 
not  further  speak,  being  rather  concerned  with 
the  doings  of  Sir  Guyon,  who  was  indeed  now 
come  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  task. 

First  they  came  to  a  great  water,  where  there  was 
a  ferry-boat  ready  prepared  for  their  coming.  In 
this  they  embarked  and  set  forth,  a  stout  ferry- 
man being  at  hand  to  manage  the  craft.  Two 
days  they  sailed  and  saw  no  land;  but  on  the 
third  day,  as  the  light  began  to  dawn  in  the 
East,  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  great  roaring. 
Now  the  pilgrim  held  the  tiller  and  steered  the 
craft.     To  him  said  the  ferryman:    ^'Pilgrim,  steer 


98  OF  QUEEN  ACRASIA 

din  even  course;  there  is  a  dangerous  place  which 
we  must  pass  across,  —  on  the  one  side  is  a  great 
whirlpool,  and  a  ship  that  comes  too  near  it  is 
sure  to  sink,  and  on  the  other  a  great  rock  of 
magnet,  which,  if  we  keep  not  a  due  distance, 
will  draw  us  to  itself.  Steer  then  so  that  we 
may  not  fall  into  this  danger  or  into  that." 

Right  skilfully  did  the  pilgrim  steer,  and  great 
was  the  need.  The  whirlpool,  indeed,  showed  no 
sign  of  what  had  happened  there  before,  for  all 
was  swallowed  up  in  its  depths;  but  on  the  rock 
they  saw  the  ribs  of  ships  which  had  been  broken 
upon  it,  and  the  bones  of  men  lying  in  its  clefts. 
And  birds  of  prey,  mews  and  cormorants  and  the 
like,  sat  watching  for  such  spoils  as  should  come. 
Right  willingly  did  they  pass  from  that  place  of 
death.  And  when  the  ferryman,  plying  his  oars 
with  sturdy  strength,  had  rowed  awhile.  Sir  Guyon 
cried,  pointing  with  his  hand:  '^I  see  land  yonder; 
steer  thereto,  good  sir." 

"Nay,"  said  the  ferryman,  "it  is  not  so. 
That  is  no  land  which  you  see,  but  what  men 
call  the  Wandering  Islands.  Many  men  have 
come  to  their  deaths  through  them.  They  seem 
firm  ground,  fairly  grown  with  trees  and  grass  and 
flowers;  but  let  a  man  once  set  his  foot  upon 
them,  he  can  never  recover  it  again." 

So  they  journeyed  on  in  a  straight  course,  and 
in  so  doing  came  to  one  of  these  islands,  whereon 
they  espied  a  fair  lady  sitting.  On  the  rock  she 
sat,    and    she   had    a   Httle   boat   hard    by.     "Come 


OF  QUEEN   ACRASIA  99 

hither,  my  friends,"  she  said.  '^I  have  somewhat 
here  which  I  would  show  you,  and  which  you 
would   willingly  see." 

But  Sir  Guyon  said:  ^^Nay,  nay.  We  are 
otherwise  minded;  this  is  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 
who  caused  me  to  be  parted  from  my  guide."  So 
they  passed  on,  and  took  no  heed.  But  when, 
after  a  while,  they  passed  hard  by  another  island, 
on  which  sat  a  maiden  in  sore  distress,  as  it 
seemed.  Sir  Guyon's  heart  was  moved;  for  was  it 
not  a  good  knight's  part  to  succour  ladies  in 
distress?     ^^ Steer   thither,"   he   cried. 

"Not  so.  This  damsel  in  distress  is  but  a 
show;  no  damsel  she,  but  some  ill  creature  ready 
to  devour  any  that  she  may  deceive."  So  they 
passed  on,  nor  did  they  halt  when,  passing  by  a 
pleasant  bay,  they  heard  a  sound  of  sweet  singing. 

"O  Guyon,"  such  was  the  song  which  they 
heard,  "flower  of  chivalry,  most  famous  of  all 
knights  upon  earth,  turn  thy  bark  hither,  and  rest 
awhile." 

"Listen  not,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "they  do  but 
seek   to   lure   you   to   your   death." 

These  things  past,  they  came  to  the  place  for 
which  they  were  bound.  And  the  pilgrim  said: 
"This,  Sir  Knight,  is  the  place  where  you  must 
contend  for  the  mastery.  Take  your  arms,  and 
make  yourself  ready,  for  the  hour  of  trial  is  at 
hand." 

And  now  the  ferryman  drove  the  boat  upon  the 
shore,    and    Sir    Guyon   and   his   guide   stepped    out 


loo  OF  QUEEN  ACRASIA 

upon  the  sand.  Straightway  they  heard  a  hideous 
bellowing  as  of  savage  beasts,  and  soon  the  beasts 
themselves  came  in  view,  threatening  as  if  they 
would  devour  them.  But  no  sooner  did  the  pilgrim 
hold  out  his  staff  than  they  ceased  their  roaring, 
and  humbled  themselves  to  the  ground.  And  now 
they  came  to  the  Bower  of  Bhss,  a  place  most 
daintily  adorned  with  all  that  could  please  the  eye. 
The  porch  by  which  they  entered  was  of  ivory 
cunningly  adorned  with  carved  work,  in  which  was 
told  the  story  of  Jason  and  Medea;  how  he  sailed 
in  the  good  ship  ArgOj  and  how  he  won  the  love  of 
the  king's  daughter,  and  how  she  helped  him  to 
win  the  fleece  of  gold  from  the  dragon  which 
guarded  it,  and  how  she  fled  with  him  over  the  sea. 
And  when  they  had  passed  through  the  porch  they 
came  to  a  very  fair  meadow,  adorned  with  the 
fairest  trees  and  flowers.  And  the  meadow  being 
passed  they  came  to  another  gate,  where  there  sat 
a  comely  damsel,  who  pressed  the  clusters  of  a  vine 
which  hung  above  her  head  into  a  cup.  This  cup 
she  proffered  to  the  knight,  and  he,  suspecting  evil 
in  all  that  seemed  most  fair  and  pleasant,  took  it 
from  her  hand,  and  threw  it  violently  on  the  ground, 
so  that  it  was  broken  into  many  pieces,  and  all  the 
hquor  was  spilt. 

Many  other  tempting  sights  did  they  see,  and 
all  the  knight  passed  by  unscathed,  the  pilgrim  not 
ceasing  on  occasion  to  give  counsel  and  warning. 
So  at  last  they  came  to  the  most  sacred  place  of 
the    Bower,    where    the    queen    herself,    Acrasia  by 


■Jp 


iSlR   GuyON   AND   THE   MeN    IN   BeSTIAL  ShAPES. 


V 


OF  QUEEN  ACRASIA''^'^'    ''•'''■•^idr 

name,  had  her  abode.  Fair  she  was  beyond  all 
words  and  daintily  arrayed,  and  at  her  feet  there 
lay  a  goodly  knight  asleep.  He  was  of  goodly 
aspect,  just  come  to  the  years  of  manhood,  with  the 
down  newly  sprung  upon  his  cheeks  and  his  lips. 
His  arms  hung  idly  on  a  tree  hard  by,  but  his  shield 
was  without  an  emblem,  as  if  he  had  put  away  the 
purpose  of  his  life. 

Sir  Guyon  and  the  pilgrim  drew  near,  none 
seeming  to  heed  them,  so  occupied  were  they  with 
the  pleasures  of  the  place.  And  then  the  pilgrim 
threw  over  the  queen  and  the  knight  a  net  which 
he  had  cunningly  prepared  for  that  same  purpose. 
Fast  did  it  hold  them  for  all  their  struggles,  neither 
force  nor  art  could  avail  them,  though  they  strove 
with     all     their     might.      The     queen     being     thus 

.  *^'japtured,  they  bound  her  with  chains  of  adamant, 
for    nothing    else    could    hold    her    safely;     but    the 

'  knight  they  soon  set  free,  for  he  was  of  a  noble 
nature,  though  it  was  much  decayed  by  evil  ways, 
and  he  was  willing  to  take  to  himself  good  advice 
and  counsel.  And  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the 
Bower  did  they  deface  and  spoil,  the  goodly  carv- 
ings they  broke  in  pieces,  and  cut  down  the 
pleasant  groves.  As  for  the  beasts,  when  the 
pilgrim  raised  his  staff  over  them,  they  left  their 
bestial  shapes  and  came  back  to  their  own,  for, 
indeed,  they  were  men  whom  this  same  evil 
queen  had  changed  to  the  forms  and  thoughts  of 
beasts.  So  did  Sir  Guyon  perform  the  command  of 
Queen  Gloriana. 

i 


CHAPTER    XV 

BRITOMART 

SIR  GUYON  returned  to  rest  awhile  in  the 
castle  of  the  Lady  Alma,  where  also  he  had 
Prince  Arthur  for  companion.  Acrasia  he  sent  to 
Queen  GJoriana  under  a  strong  guard,  lest  per- 
chance her  friends  and  followers,  of  whom  there 
was  great  multitude,  should  seek  to  deliver  her. 
After  a  while  the  two  knights  set  out  again  on  their 
journey.  Many  good  deeds  they  did,  helping  the 
weak  and  setting  right  the  things  that  were  wrong. 
It  happened  on  a  certain  day  that  they  espied  a 
knight  riding  towards  them,  with  an  aged  squire  by 
his  side,  who  seemed  too  weak  for  the  burden  which 
he  bare.  The  knight  had  a  shield  with  the  device 
of  a  Hon  on  a  field  of  gold.  Sir  Guyon  said  to 
Prince  Arthur,  ^^Let  me,  I  pray  you,  have  this 
turn." 

So  he  put  his  spear  to  rest,  and  charged,  and 
the  stranger  did  likewise.  They  met  full  and  fair; 
Sir  Guyon's  spear,  so  fast  and  furious  was  the 
onset,  was  like  to  pierce  the  stranger's  shield,  but 
this  it  did  not  avail  to  do,  nor  did  it  drive  the 
stranger  from  his  seat:  nevertheless  he  was  some- 
what   shaken.     On    the    other    hand,     Sir     Guyon 

I02 


1 


BRITOMART  103 

himself  was  carried  back,  ere  he  was  aware,  nigh 
upon  a  spear's  length  behind  the  crupper  of  his 
saddle,  yet  without  hurt  to  life  or  limb.  Neverthe- 
less his  anger  was  great,  for  never  since  the  day 
when  he  first  bore  arms  as  a  knight  had  he  been 
dismounted  in  such  fashion.  And  indeed,  if  he  had 
known  the  whole  truth  of  the  matter,  his  anger  had 
been  both  less  and  greater;  less  because  the  spear 
by  which  he  had  been  overthrown  was  of  the  magic 
sort,  and  greater,  because  the  knight  by  whom  he 
had  been  overthrown  was  no  man,  but  a  maid,  even 
the  famous  Britomart.  Full  of  rage  he  was  and  hot 
to  do  away  his  disgrace,  as  leaping  from  the  ground 
he  drew  his  sword.  And  now  the  pilgrim  in  great 
haste  came  between  the  knight  and  his  purpose,  for 
being  a  holy  man  and  wise,  he  perceived  that  there 
was  some  marvellous  power  in  that  same  spear- 
point.  This  indeed  he  did  not  disclose,  for  it  was 
not  lawful  so  to  do,  but  he  made  other  pretence: 
*^Nay,  Sir  Knight,  it  were  ill  advised  to  seek 
amends  with  your  sword  for  the  mischance  of  your 
spear.  If  haply  your  steed  swerved  somewhat  to 
the  side,  or  your  page  was  somewhat  careless  in 
the  ordering  of  your  equipage,  why  should  you  be 
so  carried  away  by  wrath;  for,  remember,  you 
have   no   quarrel   with   this   knight." 

With  such  prudent  counsels  did  the  pilgrim  pacify 
Sir  Guyon's  wrath.  Thus  concord  was  made  be- 
tween the  two,  in  which  the  prince  also  was  joined. 

When  they  had  journeyed  awhile  Prince  Arthur 
and  Sir  Guyon  set  off  on  an  adventure  of  their  own, 


I04  BRITOMART 

to  rescue  some  fair  lady  in  distress.  But  Brito- 
mart,  finding  that  they  two  would  suffice  for  that 
enterprise,  on  which  her  own  mind  was  in  nowise 
set,  rode  on  without  company  until  she  came  to  a 
fair  castle,  with  a  meadow  before  the  gate,  on  which 
she  saw  six  knights  setting  upon  one.  He  was  not 
a  little  pressed  by  such  odds,  yet  in  nowise  dis- 
mayed. Indeed,  the  six  dared  not  to  stand  up 
against  him  face  to  face,  so  shrewd  were  the  blows 
which  he  dealt  them,  but  sought  to  take  him  at  a 
disadvantage  from  behind.  Britomart  endured  not 
to  see  such  knavish  work,  but  setting  spurs  to  her 
horse  and  crying  aloud,  **Have  done  with  such 
foul  tricks,"  made  all  haste  to  help.  And  when 
they  ceased  awhile  from  the  attack,  she  said  to  the 
single  knight:  *'How  comes  it,  sir,  that  you  do 
battle   in   such  fashion  and   at   such  odds?" 

''Sir,"  he  made  answer,  "these  six  would  have 
me  swear  that  the  lady  of  this  castle  hard  by  is 
fairer  than  the  lady  whom  I  love.  Now  that  I 
utterly  refuse;  I  had  sooner  die  than  break  my 
plighted   word   in   such   a   fashion." 

Then  said  one  of  the  six,  speaking  for  his 
fellows:  "In  this  castle  which  you  see  there  dwells 
a  lady  of  such  a  beauty  that  none  in  all  the  world 
can  be  compared  with  her.  She  has  ordained  this 
law,  that  any  knight  coming  to  this  place,  if  he  have 
no  lady-love  already,  shall  vow  himself  to  her  ser- 
vice; but  if  he  have  such  a  lady-love,  then  he  shall 
confess  that  she  is  of  less  grace  and  beauty,  or 
failing   so  to  do,  shall  do  battle  with  us." 


BRITOMART  105 

**By  heaven!"  cried  Britomart,  "this  is  a  hard 
choice!  And  tell  me,  pray,  if  this  knight  be 
obedient  to  this  same  law,  what  reward  shall  he 
have?" 

"He  shall  have  the  lady's  fair  regard.  But  tell 
us,   sir,   for  yourself  —  have  you  a  lady-love?" 

"That,"  said  Britomart,  "I  answer  not;  whether 
I  have  such  or  have  not,  I  pay  no  such  homage  as 
you  ask  to  your  lady.  Rather,  I  take  up  this  good 
knight's  cause  against  you."  And  even  while  she 
spoke,  she  rode  at  one  of  the  six  and  laid  him  low 
upon  the  ground,  and  then  at  another,  and  then 
again  at  a  third,  with  the  like  end.  Meanwhile  the 
knight  had  discomfited  the  fourth.  And  the  two 
that  were  left  were  fain  to  sue  for  peace.  "See," 
said    Britomart,    "how   truth   and   honour   prevail!" 

Then  was  Britomart  taken  into  the  castle  and 
received  with  great  honour.  Yet  she  misliked  the 
place  and  the  company,  for  that  they  both  seemed 
unduly  given  over  to  ease  and  luxury.  Nor  would 
she  doff  her  armour,  nor,  indeed,  do  aught  but  raise 
the  visor  of  her  helmet.  And  when  the  lady  of 
the  place,  seeing  that  the  stranger  was  very  fair  and 
of  a  noble  presence,  bore  herself  as  one  greatly 
enamoured,  she  departed  in  great  discontent.  The 
six  knights  would  fain  have  stopped  her  going,  and 
one  of  them,  Gardante  by  name,  shooting  with  an 
arrow,  for  to  come  to  closer  quarters  was  not  to  his 
mind,  wounded  her  in  the  side.  But  he  and  his 
companions  received  manifold  more  hurt  than  they 
gave,  not  only  from  Britomart,  but  from  the  strange 


io6  BRITOMART 

knight  and   Sir   Guyon   also,  for   they,  hearing   the 
tumult,    came    to    her   help. 

As  they  journeyed,  it  came  into  Sir  Guyon's 
mind  to  inquire  of  his  companion  concerning  her 
condition,  and  how  she  came  to  be  wandering  in 
these  parts.  Britomart  was  not  a  little  disturbed 
by  this  questioning.  For  a  while  she  was  silent, 
and  could  make  no  answer,  but  trembled  and 
blushed,  no  knight  but  a  very  woman.  But  when 
the  passion  had  passed,  and  she  had  gathered  her 
strength  together,  she  said:  "Sir  Knight,  I  would 
have  you  know  that  from  a  child  I  have  been 
trained  in  things  of  war,  to  carry  a  shield,  and  to 
put  spear  in  rest,  that  the  life  of  ease,  which 
women,  for  the  most  part,  follow,  pleased  me 
not;  and  as  for  fingering  the  fine  needle  and 
the  slender  thread,  by  heaven!  I  had  sooner  be 
struck  dead  by  a  foeman's  spear!  And  so,  all  my 
heart  being  set  on  deeds  of  arms  and  perilous 
adventures,  by  sea  and  by  land,  wheresoever  they 
might  be  met,  I  came  from  my  own  country,  which 
men  call  the  Greater  Britain,  into  this  land.  For  it 
was  told  me  that  in  this  same  fairy  land  many  such 
adventures  were  to  be  found,  and  much  glory  and 
honour  won  thereupon.  And  now,  courteous  sir,  I 
would  ask  you  one  question:  Know  you,  per- 
chance, of  one  Artegall,  for  he  has  done  me  a 
wrong  for  which  I   would   fain  requite  him  ?" 

Scarcely  had  she  spoken  the  words,  when  she 
fain  would  have  called  them  back.  But  Sir  Guyon, 
taking  them  up  with  no  small  heat,  made  answer: 


BRITOMART  107 

"Fair  warrior,  surely  you  do  ill  to  accuse  so  true 
and  Loyal  a  knight  as  is  Sir  Artegall  with  ill- 
behaviour.  Truly  of  all  who  have  ever  taken 
part  in  tilt  or  tourney,  there  is  not  one  that  stands 
in  better  repute  than  he.  It  were  indeed  the 
greatest  of  marvels  that  he  should  do  an  unworthy 
act,  or  even  think  in  his  heart  an  unworthy  thought. 
And  if  you  have  come  with  such  a  purpose  in  your 
heart,  then  I  say  that  you  have  journeyed  far  on  a 
false   errand." 

Now  Britomart,  in  her  secret  heart,  was  glad  to 
hear  such  praises  of  Sir  Artegall.  For,  indeed,  as 
will  be  seen,  she  loved  him,  and  it  was  her  woman's 
craft,  by  speaking  ill  of  him  to  his  friends,  so  to  call 
forth  his  praises.  And  when,  with  this  thought  in 
her  heart,  she  had  again  uttered  some  injurious 
words  concerning  him,  Sir  Guyon  answered:  ''It 
would  be  well,  lady,  that  you  should  listen  to  reason 
in  this  matter.  Truly  he  is  not  one  whom  you  can 
compel  by  force  to  do  this  thing  or  that,  for  there  is 
not,  I  take  it,  a  knight  upon  earth  that  can  match 
him  in  equal  fight.  And,  indeed,  for  what  you  ask 
me,  where  is  Sir  Artegall  to  be  found,  I  cannot  tell 
you.  He  is  not  one  who  will  remain  for  long  time 
in  any  certain  place;  rather  he  wanders  round  the 
world,  seeking  occasion  for  great  deeds,  by  which 
he  can  help  to  right  such  as  suffer  wrong." 

Britomart  was  greatly  pleased  to  hear  such 
praises  of  the  knight.  Still  she  dissembled  the 
matter  and  said:  "Whether  it  be  easy  or  hard  to 
find   the  man  I  know  not;    but  at  least  I  would 


io8  BRITOMART 

know  how  I  may  profitably  seek  him.  Tell  me 
some  mark  by  which  I  may  know  him,  the  manner 
of  his  shield,  the  fashion  of  his  arms,  the  bearing  of 
his  steed,  and  other  things  by  which  I  may  certainly 
know  the  man  should  I  chance  to  encounter  him.'* 
Then  Sir  Guyon  told  her  all  that  she  would  know, 
and  she,  listening  to  all  that  he  said,  found  it  most 
welcome  to  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OF  merlin's  magic  MIRIIOR 

THERE  was  a  certain  king  of  old  time  in  the 
land  of  Deheubarth,  which  men  now  call 
South  Wales.  His  name  was  Ryence,  and  he  had 
for  his  principal  counsellor  one  Merlin,  who  was  a 
great  magician.  This  Merlin  made  by  his  art  a 
wonderful  mirror,  which  was  soj  contrived  that  he 
who  looked  in  it  could  see  anything  from  the  lowest 
parts  of  the  earth  to  the  highest  part  of  the  heavens, 
if  only  it  concerned  him.  If  a  foe  contrived  any 
evil  against  him,  if  a  friend  had  used  any  falsehood 
in  respect  of  him,  there  he  could  see  it  plainly  set 
forth.  This  mirror  Merlin  gave  to  the  king  for  a 
protection,  that  if  at  any  time  an  enemy  should 
invade  his  dominions,  he  should  know  of  his  design 
before  tidings  could  come  to  him  from  without,  and 
so  should  be  able  to  be  beforehand  with  him. 
Never  had  prince  a  more  noble  present,  nor  one 
more  worthy  of  reward,  for  there  could  be  no  treason 
within  the  realm  or  enmity  without  but  that  it  came 
straightway  to  the  king's  knowledge. 

Now  Britomart  was  the  daughter  of  King 
Ryence,  and  it  chanced  on  a  certain  day  that  she 
came   into   his   closet,    for   he   kept   nothing    secret 

109 


no  OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC  MIRROR 

from  her,  seeing  that  she  was  his  only  child  and  the 
heir  of  his  kingdom,  and  there  saw  Merlin's  mirror. 
She  had  seen  it  indeed  not  once  or  twice  only,  and 
knew  its  virtues.  There  came  into  her  head  the 
thought  that  she  might  see  therein  the  image  of  the 
man  who  should  be  her  husband.  Such  a  thought 
maidens  are  wont  to  entertain,  and  Britomart,  being 
her  father's  only  child,  and  knowing  that  she  would 
one  day  come  to  the  kingdom,  was  the  more 
curious  in  this  regard,  nor  had  she  had  to  that  time 
any  thought  of  one  man  more  than  of  another.  So 
looking  into  the  mirror  she  saw  a  very  comely 
knight,  armed  cap-a-pie.  He  had  the  visor  of  his 
helmet  up,  showing  a  face  that  would  strike  fear 
into  an  enemy  and  be  loving  to  a  friend.  He  was 
tall  of  stature,  and  bore  himself  with  a  manly  grace. 
For  his  crest  he  had  a  hound  couchant,  and  his 
armour  seemed  of  ancient  fashion,  massive  and 
strong  to  look  at;  on  it  was  written  in  old  letters 
these  words,  "The  Arms  of  Achilles  which 
Artegall  did  wi^."  The  shield  was  of  seven 
folds,  and  it  bore  an  ermilin  crowned,  white  on  a  field 
of  blue.  The  maiden  looked  and  liked  well  what 
she  saw,  and  went  her  way,  not  knowing  —  such  was 
the  simplicity  of  her  age  —  that  she  had  seen  with 
her  eyes  the  fate  that  should  rule  the  fortunes  of  her 
life.  That  keen  archer  Love  had  wounded  her 
with  his  arrow,  but  she  knew  it  not.  Yet  from  that 
day  she  began  to  droop.  No  longer  did  she  carry 
herself  with  princely  pride.  Sad  and  solemn  was 
she,  and  full  of  fancies,  yet  knew  not  why.    That 


OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC  MIRROR  m 

she  ailed  somewhat  she  was  well  aware,  but  thought 
it  was  not  love,  but  some  passing  mood  of  melan- 
choly. Such  was  she  by  day,  and  at  night,  when 
she  laid  herself  down  to  rest,  sleep  fled  far  from  her 
eyes.  She  kept  a  sorrowful  watch  as  the  hours  of 
the  night  went  by,  and  she  watered  her  couch  with 
her  tears ;  and  if,  when  nature  was  worn  out  with 
these  long  watchings,  she  fell  into  some  brief 
slumber,  then  some  fearful  dreams  would  come  and 
bring  with  them  a  worse  unrest. 

One  night  her  nurse,  Glauce  by  name,  caught 
her  in  her  arms  as  she  was  leaping  from  her  bed, 
and  held  her  down  by  force.  "Ah,  my  child,"  she 
cried,  "how  is  it  that  you  are  in  this  evil  plight? 
What  is  it  that  has  changed  your  cheerful  mood  to 
this  sadness  ?  Surely  there  is  some  cause  for  these 
troubles  that  haunt  you  by  night,  and  drive  away 
sleep  from  your  eyes.  And  in  the  days  when  your 
equals  in  age  disport  themselves,  you  mope  in 
solitary  corners,  and  have  no  enjoyment  of  your 
princely  life.  I  doubt  much  whether  the  cause  be 
not  love;  yet  if  the  love  be  worthy  of  your  race 
and  royal  birth  —  and  that  it  is  I  seem  to  myself  to 
read  by  many  signs  and  tokens  —  then  I  do  swear 
most  solemnly  to  help  you.  Away,  dear  child,  with 
your  fears!  Neither  danger  or  death  shall  keep 
me  from  bringing  you  due  relief."  Then  she  caught 
the  maid  in  her  arms,  and  embraced  her  in  all 
tenderness,  and  chafed  her  limbs  to  drive  away  the 
cold,  and  kissed  her  eyes,  still  entreating  that  she 
should  show  the  secret  of  her  heart.     For  a  while 


112  OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC  MIRROR 

the  maid  was  silent;  then  she  said,  "Dear  nurse, 
why  should  you  grieve  for  me  ?  Is  it  not  enough 
that  I  must  die  ?    Must  you  die  also  ? " 

"Talk  not  of  dying,"  cried  the  nurse;  "never 
was  wound  yet  for  which  no  salve  could  be  found. 
The  god  who  has  wounded  you  has,  I  doubt  not,  in 
his  quiver  another   arrow  for  your  lover's  heart." 

So  they  talked  together;  the  maid  would  have 
it  that  there  was  no  remedy  for  her  trouble;  the  old 
nurse  still  steadfastly  affirmed  that  the  cure  could 
easily  be  found.  At  last  the  damsel  told  the  secret 
of  her  grief,  as  it  seemed  to  her:  "Alas,  dear 
mother,"  she  said,  "it  is  no  living  man  whose  image 
dwells  in  my  heart  and  makes  this  pain;  it  is  but 
the  shadow  and  semblance  of  a  knight;  I  saw  him 
one  day  in  the  magic  mirror  of  the  king  my  father; 
this  is  the  baited  hook  which,  as  some  foohsh  fish, 
I  swallowed;  it  is  this  thought  that  brings  me  to 
my  death." 

"Is  this  all,  my  daughter?"  cried  the  nurse; 
"then  is  nothing  strange  or  against  nature  here. 
Why  should  you  not  set  your  heart  on  one  who 
seemed  so  worthy  of  your  love?" 

"Oh,  mother,"  answered  the  girl,  "I  seemed  to 
myself  like  the  Greek  boy  of  old  who  saw  his  own 
face  in  the  fountain  and  perished  fniserably." 

"Nay,"  cried  the  nurse,  "he  was  but  the 
lover  of  a  shadow,  and  rightly  faded  into  a 
flower.  But  of  this  image  which  you  saw,  there 
is,  be  sure,  a  substance  somewhere,  and  there  are 
arts   by   which   it   may   be   found.    And   now,   dear 


OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC  MIRROR  113 

child,  let  me  give  you  my  counsel.  If  you  can 
banish  this  thought  from  your  mind  till  the  con- 
venient time  be  come,  then  do  so.  If  it  is  too 
strong  for  you,  then  I  vow  and  promise  that,  by 
one  means  or  another,  I  v^ill  find  this  very  knight 
whose   image   you   beheld." 

The  maid  was  somewhat  encouraged  by  these 
words,  and  slept  awhile.  But  on  the  morrow,  and 
as  the  days  went  by,  the  old  trouble  came  again, 
and  Glauce,  seeing  that  neither  words  nor  prayers, 
nor  strange  spells  of  the  magic  art,  for  such  she 
tried,  were  of  any  avail,  judged  that  some  other 
remedy  must  needs  be  found.  What  this  remedy 
might  be  she  long  doubted  in  he"lrself.  At  last  it 
seemed  to  her  that  he  who  had  made  the  mirror, 
that  is  to  say,  the  wise  magician  Merlin,  might  tell 
her  in  what  land  the  knight  of  the  image  might 
dwell,  for  though  he  dwelt  in  farthest  Ind,  yet 
find  him  she  would.  Forthwith  these  two,  that 
is  to  say,  Glauce  and  the  maiden  Britomart,  dis- 
guised themselves  in  mean  attire,  that  no  one 
might  learn  their  purpose,  and  betook  themselves 
to  Maridunum,  where,  in  a  cave  which  he  had 
hollowed  out  for  himself  beneath  the  earth,  so  as 
to  escape  from  the  curious  eyes  of  men.  Merlin 
had  his  abode.  When  they  were  come  to  the 
place  they  stood  awhile  without,  in  doubt  and 
fear,  whether  they  had  done  well  in  making  so 
bold  a  venture. 

At  last  the  maid,  moved  by  love,  which  is  ever 
bold,  led  the  way,  and  Glauce  following,  they  stood 


114  OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC  MIRROR 

within  the  cave.  There  they  found  the  magician 
busy  on  some  wonderful  work,  for  he  was  writing 
strange,  characters  on  the  ground,  the  spells  by 
which  he  bound  the  spirits  of  the  earth  to  his 
service.  He  was  not  one  whit  moved  at  their 
coming,  of  which,  indeed,  he  was  aware  before- 
hand, for  indeed  by  his  art  he  knew  the  secret 
thoughts  of  others.  Nevertheless  he  made  as 
though  he  knew  not  their  errand,  saying:  *^Tell 
me  now  on  what  business  you  are  come?" 

Then  Glauce  answered:  "Blame  us  not,  kind 
sir,  that  we  have  thus  disturbed  you  in  your 
solitude,  coming  thus  unbidden,  but  the  need  was 
great. " 

"Speak  on,''  said  Merlin.  ' 

Then  she  began:  "Three  months  have  passed 
since  this  maiden  here  began  to  sicken  of  some 
strange  disease.  What  it  is,  and  whence  it  began, 
I  know  not;  only  this  I  know,  that  unless  you  can 
find  some  remedy  she  must  shortly  die." 

The  magician  smiled  at  her  woman's  craft, 
knowing  well  that  she  had  in  her  heart  that 
which  she  would  not  tell.  "Madam,"  he  said, 
"I  take  it  from  what  you  say  that  this  damsel 
has  more  need  of  the  physician's  art  than  of  any 
skill  of  mine.  They  who  may  find  a  remedy  for 
their  trouble  elsewhere,  do  ill  to  have  recourse  to 
the   magic   art." 

The  old  dame  was  not  a  Htde  disturbed  by 
these  words,  but  yet  was  loath  to  show  her  true 
purpose.     "Sir,"   she   said,    "the   trouble   has   taken 


OF  MERLIN'S   MAGIC  MIRROR  115 

too  strong  a  hold  on  this  maiden's  life  that  the 
physician's  art  could  work  a  cure.  I  fear  me  much 
that  some  bad  spell  has  been  cast  upon  her.  Some 
witch  or  evil  spirit  has  done  this  thing;  therefore 
it  is  that  we  seek  your  help." 

When  he  heard  these  words  Merlin  could 
no  more  contain  himself,  but  laughed  aloud. 
"Glauce,"  he  said,  *^what  avails  this  pretence 
by  which  you  seek  to  hide  your  purpose?  And 
you,  fair  Britomart,  why  have  you  thus  disguised 
yourself  in  mean  attire,  as  the  sun  hides  himself 
behind  a  cloud?  You  have  come,  by  the  ordering 
of  Fate,  to  the  very  place  where  you  shall  find  the 
help  which  you  need."  The  maiden,  hearing  her 
name  so  called,  blushed  a  rosy  red;  but  the  nurse, 
not  one  whit  dismayed,  but  rather  taking  heart  at 
Merlin's  words,  said : 

*^Sir,  if  you  know  our  troubles,  and,  indeed, 
what  is  there  that  you  do  not  know,  have  pity 
upon  us,  and  help  us  in  our  need." 

Merlin  sat  silent  awhile,  for  many  thoughts 
were  in  his  mind.  At  last  he  spoke:  ^^Most 
noble  maid,  who  have  learned  to  love  in  this 
strange  fashion,  be  not  dismayed  by  this  hard 
beginning  of  your  life.  It  was  no  chance  look,  O 
Britomart,  in  the  mirror  of  the  king  your  father, 
but  the  unchanging  course  of  the  purposes  of 
Heaven,  that  showed  you  this  image.  Believe 
me,  it  is  no  ill-fortune  that  you  love  this  noble 
knight.  Submit  yourself,  therefore,  to  the  purposes 
of  God,  and  be  content  to  do  His  will." 


ii6  OF  MERLIN'S  MAGIC   MIRROR 

Then  said  Glauce:  '^Tell  us,  man  of  wisdom, 
what  means  she  shall  use,  what  ways  she  shall 
take,  to  find  this  man.  Or  has  she  no  need  of 
toil,  but  may  sit  still  while  her  fate  is  fashioned 
for  her?" 

"The  fates,"  answered  Merlin,  "are  firmly 
fixed;  not  the  less  it  becomes  those  whom  they 
concern  to  do  their  own  endeavour,  and  to  be 
fellow- workers  with  God."  Then  he  told  Britomart 
the  true  name  and  lineage  of  Sir  Artegall,  how 
that  he  was  son  to  Gorlois,  Ejng  of  Cornwall  in 
time  past,  and  brother  to  Cador,  then  king  of  the 
same  land.  Then  he  turned  to  Britomart  and 
opened  to  her  the  future,  how  she  should  be  wife 
to  Sir  Artegall,  and  how  from  them  would  come 
a  line  of  kings  who  should  reign  with  great  glory. 
Many  things  that  should  come  to  pass  in  after  days, 
both  good  and  evil,  did  MerHn  unfold  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOW  BRITOMART  TOOK  TO  ARMS 

FROM  Merlin's  cave  these  two,  Britomart  and 
Glauce,  her  nurse,  went  back  to  their  own  home. 
There  they  consulted  together  many  days  how  they 
might  best  carry  out  their  purpose  of  seeking  Sir 
Artegall.  At  last  Glauce  said:  "My  daughter,  I 
have  conceived  in  my  heart  a  scheme,  somewhat 
bold,  I  must  confess,  yet  such  as  may  be  accom- 
plished if  you  are  both  brave  and  prudent.  And 
above  all  things,  it  is  in  good  accord  with  the  con- 
ditions of  these  present  days.  You  must  know  that 
the  good  King  Uther  has  of  late  made  war  against 
the  pagan  brothers,  Octa  and  Oza,  who  are  newly 
come  to  this  country  from  the  lands  which  lie  about 
the  Northern  Sea,  and  has  won  a  great  victory 
over  them  and  their  people,  and  that  all  Britain  is 
now  in  a  great  flame  of  war.  My  counsel  there- 
fore is,  seeing  that  armed  men  are  everywhere,  let 
us  make  ourselves  as  armed  men.  Let  our  hands, 
weak  though  they  be  by  nature,  learn  to  handle 
;  the  spear  and  the  sword,  nor  shall  we  fail  therein, 
I  for  there  are  no  scholars  so  apt  as  they  who  have 
I  need  for  their  teacher.  And,  indeed,  my  daughter, 
j  you  are  one  who  should  easily  learn  such  matters, 

i  "7 


ii8  HOW  BRITOMART   TOOK  TO   ARMS 

for  you  are  both  tall  and  strong,  and  need  practice 
only,  which  being  had,  you  should  be  as  truly 
martial  a  maid  as  you  could  wish.  Nor  is  such  a 
thing  unknown  in  the  race  from  which  you  come. 
Such  was  the  bold  Boadicea,  who  reigned  in  old 
time  over  the  Iceni,  for  she  made  haughty  Rome  to 
tremble  before  her,  and  others,  as  Gwendolen  and 
Emmilen.  Hear  also  this  thing  which  I  saw  with 
my  own  eyes.  On  the  battlefield  at  Menevia,  where 
King  Uther  last  fought  against  the  pagan  hosts, 
there  was  a  Saxon  virgin  who  thrice  struck  to  the 
earth  the  great  Ulfin  himself.  Verily  she  had  slain 
him  as  he  lay,  but  that  Caradoc  held  her  hand,  and 
Caradoc  himself  had  much  ado  to  escape  from  her 
without  hurt.'* 

"Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  her  name,"  said  Brito- 
mart. 

"They  call  her  Angela,"  the  nurse  made  answer, 
"and  she  is  as  fair  as  she  is  strong.  She  is  the 
leader  of  a  tribe  who  are  more  to  be  feared  than 
all  other   Saxons;   they  call  themselves  Angles." 

Much    was    the    maiden    moved    by    this    tale,   so 
that  she  made  her  resolve,  unknown   to  her  father, 
to  take  upon  herself  all  the  duties  and  adventures 
which  were  fitting  to  a   knight.    And    she    said    to 
her  nurse:    "See,  Glauce,  that  you   have  all   things 
ready  that  are  convenient  to  my  new  estate."    And^ 
this   Glauce  did   with  all  readiness  and   care.     For- 
tune also  helped  in  the  matter;    for  about  this  timel 
a  band  of  Britons,  being  abroad  on  a  foray,  took  a] 
great  spoil  of  Saxon  goods,  and  among  them  goodly 


HOW   BRITOMART   TOOK   TO   ARMS  119 

armour  decked  with  gold,  and  arms  of  proof  which 
belonged  to  the  Saxon  queen  Angela.  These 
spoils  King  Ryence  com.aanded  to  be  hung  up 
in  the  chapel  of  his  palace,  that  they  might  be 
a  memorial  for  all  time  of  the  great  victory  which 
God  had  given  to  his  arms.  Into  this  same  chapel 
Glauce  led  the  maiden  Britomart  late  in  the  night 
when  no  one  was  near,  and  taking  down  the 
armour,  clad  her  in  it,  and  she  gave  her  the  arms 
also,  chief  among  these  being  a  wonderful  spear 
which  King  Bladud  had  made  by  magical  arts 
many  years  before.  This  virtue  it  had,  that  whoso- 
ever might  be  struck  by  the  point  thereof,  could 
not  stay  in  his  saddle,  but  must  be  borne  to  the 
ground.  And  when  Glauce  had  so  furnished  the 
maiden  with  due  equipment  of  war,  then  she  took 
for  herself  such  arms  and  armour  as  befitted  a 
squire,  and  put  them  on.  This  done,  they  left  the 
place  by  secret  ways,  unseen  of  any.  Thus  did  it 
happen  that  Britomart  came  in  guise  of  a  knight 
into  the  company  of  Sir  Guyon  and  the  Red-Cross 
Knight. 

Not  long  after  this  they  parted  from  each  other, 
for  the  Knight  had  an  errand  of  his  own,  and 
Britomart  was  bent  on  the  finding  of  Sir  Artegall. 
Many  miles  did  she  ride,  and  through  many  lands 
did  she  travel,  till  at  last  she  came  to  the  shore  of 
the  sea.  There  she  lighted  from  off  her  horse  and 
bade  Glauce  unlace  her  helmet,  and  sat  down  upon 
a  rock  to  rest  awhile  and  refresh  herself  with  the 
breeze   that  blew  from  off  the  waves.    And   as  she 


120  HOW  BRITOMART   TOOK  TO  ARMS 

sat,  she  thought  within  herself:  "Ah  me,  how  like 
is  love  to  this  restless  sea !  How  shall  my  frail 
bark  escape  where  there  are  so  many  dangers,  and 
no  certain  guide?"  So  she  spake  to  herself,  sighing 
the  while;  weep  she  would  not,  for  tears,  she 
thought,  did  not  become  a  knight.  But  Glauc6 
comforted  her,  calling  to  her  mind  what  Merlin 
had  prophesied  about  the  things  to  come.  Nor 
were  these  words  in  vain;  but  there  'soon  befell  a 
thing  which  roused  her  more  than  many  words. 
She  spied  a  knight  in  shining  armour  riding  to- 
wards her  in  all  haste,  with  his  spear  in  rest  as 
one  that  had  some  hostile  purpose.  Quickly  she 
mounted  her  horse,  and  bade  Glauce  lace  her 
helmet,  and  addressed  herself  without  delay  to 
battle.  Now,  by  the  time  she  had  put  her  shield  in 
place  and  made  ready  her  spear,  the  knight  was 
close   at   hand. 

"Sir  Knight,"  said  he,  "know  you  that  you 
travel  on  this  road  against  my  strict  commands? 
I  suffer  not  any  to  pass  by  this  way.  Others 
who  have  so  trespassed  have  come  by  their  death. 
Therefore  I  counsel  you  to  go  back  while  there  is 
yet  time." 

She  made  answer  in  few  words:  "Let  them 
fly  who  have  need  for  flight.  You  may  frighten 
children  with  your  words.  As  for  passing  by  this 
way,  I  am  prepared  to  do  it,  even  without  your 
leave.  Verily,  I  will  pass  or  die."  Scarcely  had  she 
spoken  when  the  stranger  knight  rode  at  her  with 
his  spear  in  rest.    He  smote  her  full  on  the  breast, 


HOW  BRITOMART   TOOK   TO   ARMS  121 

and  she  bowed  her  head,  so  fierce  was  the  stroke, 
till  it  well-nigh  touched  the  crupper  of  her  saddle. 
But  her  counter-stroke  was  deadlier  by  far.  The 
spear-point  passed  through  his  shield  and  through 
his  cuirass,  and,  glancing  thence,  pierced  his  left 
side.  The  power  of  the  stroke  bore  him  from  the 
saddle,  and  laid  him  bleeding  on  the  ground,  where 
he  lay  wallowing  in  his  blood.  So  fell  the  knight, 
Sir  Marinell,  upon  the  shore  which  he  called  his 
own.  And  Britomart  rode  on;  and  as  she  went  she 
saw  pearls  and  precious  stones  of  every  kind,  and 
ingots  of  gold  half  buried  in  the  sand.  Much  she 
wondered  to  see  such  riches,  but  she  would  not 
descend  for  a  single  hour.  What  were  jewels  or 
precious  stones  or  gold  to  her,  that  they  should 
hinder  her  in  her  quest? 

The    story    of    Sir    Marinell,    briefly  told,    is    this. 

His  mother  was  a  daughter  of  Nereus,   God  of  the 

Sea,  and  his  father  a  mortal  man.     He  was  reared 

up  in  arms,  and  became  a  great  and  famous  knight. 

And  he  had  for  his  possession  this  same  shore;    a 

place    in    which    Nature    of   her    own    will    had    set 

much    riches,  pearls    and    precious    stones    and    the 

like,  and  to  which,  by  the  ordering  of  Nereus,  great 

store    of    the    treasure    which    the    sea    swallows    up 

through    shipwreck  was    brought,    for    his    daughter 

!  made  request  of  the  same  for  her  son.     This  coast, 

I  then,  he  most  jealously  guarded  against  all  comers. 

I  And  being,  as  has  been  said,  valiant  and  strong  and 

I  expert  in  arms,  and  also  because  he  knew  the  place 

iand  was   able   to   take  a   new-comer  unawares,   he 

i 


122  HOW   BRITOMART   TOOK   TO   ARMS 

seemed  to  be  invincible.  Many  knights,  seeking 
to  pass  along  the  coast,  for,  indeed,  the  fame  of  its 
treasures  was  spread  abroad,  were  slain,  and  yet 
more,  being  vanquished  in  battle,  for  life's  sake, 
submitted  themselves  to  him,  and  became  vassals 
and  servants  to  him.  One  hundred  knights,  men 
of  name  all  of  them,  were  so  bound  to  his  service. 
In  the  end.  Sir  Marinell,  what  with  the  multitude 
of  his  riches,  and  the  pride  of  having  so  many 
knights  of  renown  at  his  beck  and  call,  became  not 
a  little  puffed  up,  and  his  mother,  knowing  that  the 
wise  man  had  said  of  old,  ^' Pride  goeth  before  a 
fall,"  would  fain  know  how  he  might  be  kept  from 
mischief.  So  she  went  to  a  certain  god  of  the  sea, 
Proteus  by  name,  who  had  the  gift  of  foretelling 
things  to  come.  And  Proteus  said  to  her:  "My 
daughter,  keep  this  thy  son  from  all  womankind, 
for  from  a  woman  he  shall  have  a  deadly  hurt." 
And  the  mother,  taking  these  words  to  be  spoken 
of  woman's  love,  set  her  son's  mind  against  all  such 
things,  and  did  most  carefully  keep  him  from  all 
company  of  women.  And  he,  to  do  her  pleasure, 
obeyed  her  in  this  matter,  yet  could  not  so  escape 
his  fate.  And  this  fate  was  all  the  harder,  because 
this  knight  was  beloved  of  a  fair  and  virtuous 
maiden,  Florimell  by  name,  whom  he  might  have 
wedded  much  to  his  joy  and  profit.  Of  this  same 
Florimell  more  shall  be  told  hereafter. 

Britomart,  after  having  thus  vanquished  Sir 
Marinell,  still  went  on  her  quest,  and  came  at  night 
to  the  castle  of  a  certain  Malbecco.     To  this  same 


HOW  BRITOMART   TOOK   TO   ARMS  123 

place  there  had  also  come,  earlier  by  the  space  of 
an  hour  or  so,  two  other  knights.  Sir  Paridell  and 
Sir  Satyrane.  It  was  this  same  Satyrane  that 
helped  the  Lady  Una  in  her  wanderings  when  she 
was  parted  by  evil  chance  from  the  Red-Cross 
Knight.  To  them  Sir  ParidelPs  squire  had  said: 
"My  lords,  you  will  not  find  entertainment  here. 
The  master  of  this  castle,  Malbecco  by  name,  is  a 
mere  churl,  and  hates  all  company,  and  this  for  two 
reasons:  the  first  of  these  reasons  is  that  his  mind 
is  wholly  set  on  riches,  and  he  hates  all  doings 
by  which  they  may  seem  to  be  wasted;  and  the 
second  is  that  he,  being  old  and  crabbed,  is 
wedded  to  a  very  fair  young  wife,  whom  he  would 
fain  keep  from  the  sight  of  all  eyes  but  his  own. 
Verily  he  keeps  her  as   in  prison." 

When  Sir  Paridell  heard  the  squire's  story,  he 
said:  "Why  do  we  suffer  this  old  dotard  to  behave 
himself  in  this  churlish  fashion  ?  'Twere  better  to 
kill  the  villain  and   spoil  his  home." 

"Nay,"  said  Sir  Satyrane,  who  was  a  loyal  and 
true  knight,  and  would  fain  bear  himself  honestly 
to  all  men;  "we  will  first  gently  entreat  this  man 
to  give  us  entertainment.  And  if  he  will  not  listen 
to  gentle  words,  then  will  we  threaten  him;  for 
some  who  heed  not  fair  words  will  take  account  of 
foul.  And  if  we  accompHsh  nothing  either  by 
entreaties  or  by  threats,  then  we  will  make  our 
way  into  his  dwelling  by  force,  and  deal  with  him 
as  he  deserves." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Sir  Paridell,  and  coming  to  the 


124  HOW   BRITOMART   TOOK    TO   ARMS 

gate  he  knocked.  ^'Sir  Porter,"  he  said,  "two 
knights  seek  shelter  and  entertainment." 

Now  the  porter  was  Malbecco  himself,  for  it 
was  his  custom  to  play  the  porter's  part.  He 
answered:  "All  in  this  house,  my  friend,  are  now 
gone  to  their  beds,  and  the  keys  have  been  taken 
to  the  master  of  the  house,  and  he  also  is  in  his 
bed,  nor  is  there  anyone  so  bold  that  would  venture 
to  wake  him  from  his  sleep.  I  pray  you,  therefore, 
to  be  patient  and  to  seek  entertainment  elsewhere." 

The  two  knights  were  not  a  Httle  wroth  at  this 
fellow's  churlishness,  but  knew  not  what  they  should 
do,  for  he  took  no  heed,  neither  of  blandishments 
nor  of  threats.  And  while  they  parleyed  with  him, 
the  sky  was  overcast,  and  there  came  so  bitter  a 
blast  of  wind  and  so  fierce  a  storm  of  rain  and  hail 
that  they  were  constrained  to  depart  and  seek 
shelter  in  a  little  hut  that  was  near  at  hand,  being 
a  sty  for  pigs.  While  they  were  faring  as  best 
they  could  in  this  place,  there  came  another  knight 
to  the  castle  gate.  He  also  sought  for  entertain- 
ment and  was  denied,  and  he  also,  under  compul- 
sion from  the  storm,  sought  shelter  in  the  hut. 
And  when,  the  place  being  indeed  already  filled,  he 
was  not  suffered  to  enter,  he  fell  into  a  great  rage. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  "this  will  I  not  suffer.  Either 
I  will  lodge  with  you,  or  you  shall  be  dislodged. 
Choose  then  whether  of  these  two  things  ye  will 
have."  The  two  knights  scarce  knew  how  they 
should  answer  him.  They  liked  not  to  deny  him 
lodging,  and  they  liked  not  to  yield  to  his  boasting. 


HOW  BRITOMART    TOOK  TO  ARMS  125 

But  of  the  two  Paridell  was  the  less  disposed  to 
take  the  matter  patiently. 

"Who  is  this  fellow,"  said  he,  "who  talks  to  me 
as  though  he  were  rating  a  dog  in  a  kennel  ?  Of 
a  truth,  if  he  is  a  dog  of  spirit,  he  would  rather  die 
than  lie  like  a  coward  in  a  corner."  So  saying,  he 
issued  forth,  and  came  to  blows  with  the  stranger. 
And  doubtless  mischief  had  been  done  but  that  the 
good  Satyrane  made  peace  between  them.  This 
done,  they  agreed  together  to  punish  the  lord  of 
the  castle  for  his  churlishness.  So  they  went  back 
to  the  gate,  and  Paridell  cried  aloud:  "Hark,  Sir 
Porter,  whoever  you  are,  if  you  open  not  this  gate, 
then  we  will  burn  this  place  and  all  that  is  therein 
with  fire." 

When  Malbecco  heard  this,  perceiving  that  they 
were  in  earnest,  he  ran  with  all  speed  and  called  to 
them  from  the  castle  walls.  "Bear  with  me,  fair 
sirs,"  he  cried,  "and  pardon  me,  seeing  that  I  am 
so  ill- served.  These  loutish  knaves  of  mine  know 
not  their  duty,  and  fail  to  attend  as  they  should 
upon  strangers."  When  they  heard  this,  the 
knights  consented  to  let  the  matter  be,  though 
they  believed  not  a  word  of  what  the  man  had 
said.  So  they  entered  the  castle.  Being  within 
the  walls,  they  rid  themselves  of  their  armour,  for 
they  were  fain  to  dry  their  garments  at  the  fire. 
And  lo!  when  the  last  come  of  the  three  took  off 
his  helmet,  the  hair,  which  was  of  golden  hue,  broke 
loose  from  its  tie  and  fell  down  to  her  feet,  like  the 
sunbeams   that   fall   from   a   cloud;    and   when   she 


126  HOW  BRITOMART   TOOK   TO   ARMS 

doffed  her  coat  of  mail  and  let  down  the  pleated 
frock  she  had  tucked  up  for  convenience'  sake  in 
riding,  then  it  was  plain  to  see  that  she  was  a 
woman,  and  indeed  the  very  fairest  of  women;  for 
in  sooth  this  last  come  of  the  three  knights  was 
Britomart. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND  AMORET 

BRITOMART,   riding    forth    on    the    day  follow- 
ing from  Malbecco's  Castle,  came  to  a  fountain 
whereby    a    knight    was    lying    stretched    upon    the 
ground.     His  cuirass  and  his  helmet  and  his  spear 
lay   near   him,    and    his  shield,  on    which   was    the 
emblem  of  love,   as  a  boy  with  wings,  was  thrown 
carelessly    on    the    ground.     He    lay    with    his    face 
upon    the    ground,    and    it    seemed    as    if    he    were 
asleep,    so    that    Britomart    of    her    courtesy    held 
back,    lest    perchance    she    should    wake    him.     But 
as  she  stood,  she  heard  him  groan,  and  after  break 
forth  into   bitter  complaining:    **0   God,"  he  cried, 
^'who    rulest    in     bhss     among    Thy    saints,    why 
sufferest     Thou     such     cruel     deeds    to    be    done? 
Hast  Thou  no  care  for   the  cause  of   the  innocent? 
Is  Thy  justice  asleep?    What  doth  it  profit  a  man 
to  do  righteously  if  righteousness  find    no   reward  ? 
Never  was  there  on  earth  a  creature  more  gracious 
than    my   Amoret;    and    lo !    for  seven    months    the 
;    tyrant   Busirane  holds   her  in  prison,    and   all,   for- 
I    sooth,    because   she   will    not   deny   her    Scudamore. 
I    And  I,   this  same   Scudamore,  am  safe  and.  sound, 
I    and  yet  can  help  her  not  at  all!"    Then  he  burst 
i"  "7 


128  SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND   AMORET 

forth  into  a  storm  of  sobs.  So  shaken  and  dis- 
turbed was  he  with  the  torment  of  his  grief,  that 
Britomart  feared  that  he  might  even  die.  So, 
stooping  down,  she  touched  him  Hghtly  on  the 
shoulder.  Whereat  he,  starting  up,  looked  to  see 
what  had  happened;  and  finding  that  it  was  but 
a  stranger  knight,  he  threw  himself  again  upon 
the  ground. 

Then  said  Britomart:  ^^Sir  Knight,  whose 
sorrow  seems  to  overpass  your  patience,  I  would 
counsel  you  to  submit  your  will  to  the  providence 
of  God.  Remember,  if  you  will,  that  virtue  and 
faith  are  mightier  than  the  very  worst  of  sorrows. 
Surely  he  who  cannot  bear  the  burden  of  this 
world's  distresses  must  not  think  to  Hve,  for  Hfe 
is  a  distressful  thing.  And  now,  tell  me  what  this 
villain  of  whom  you  speak  has  done.  Maybe  this 
hand  of  mine  may  help  you  to  win  relief  and 
redress." 

Then  said  the  knight:  "Ah  me!  it  is  idle  to 
complain  of  what  may  not  be  cured.  I  fear  me 
much  that  there  is  no  remedy  for  this  trouble. 
How  can  we  deliver  my  Amoret  from  the  dungeon 
in  which  this  tyrant  holds  her,  and  all  because  she 
will  not  accept  his  love,  nor  be  false  to  me?  For, 
indeed,  he  has  fortified  the  place  with  such  magic 
charms  that  no  power  of  man  can  overcome 
them." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Britomart,  "we  will  make 
our   endeavour." 

"Why  should  you  die  for  me?"  said   the  knight. 


SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND  AMORET  129 

"It  is  enough  that  I  should  perish,  who  deserve  it 
well." 

"Nay,"  cried  Britomart,  "Hfe  is  not  lost  if  the 
fame  that  dies  not  be  bought  with  it." 

So  at  last  she  persuaded  him  to  rise  from  the 
ground.  His  armour  she  helped  him  to  put  on, 
and  his  horse,  which  had  strayed  away,  she  brought 
back  to  him.  Then  they  set  off  for  the  magician's 
castle,  which  was  but  a  bow-shot  away.  But  when 
they  were  arrived,  lo !  there  was  no  gate,  no,  nor 
porter,  nor  watchman,  but  in  the  porch  there  was  a 
flaming  fire  and  a  great  smoke  of  sulphur;  so  fierce 
was  the  fire  and  so  thick  the  smoke  that  they  were 
compelled  to  fall  back. 

"To  run  into  danger  without  thought,  Sir 
Knight,"  said  Britomart,  "is  becoming  to  a  beast, 
not  to  a  man.  Let  us  think,  therefore,  how  we 
may  most  prudently  deal  with  this  enemy." 

"Alas!"  answered  Sir  Scudamore,  for  this  was 
the  knight's  name,  "here  you  see  the  doleful  straits 
in  which  I  stand.  This  is  the  trouble  of  which  I 
complained.  By  no  cleverness  or  strength  or  valor 
may  these  flames  be  quenched,  for  no  man  can  undo 
the  enchantments  by  which  they  have  been  kindled. 
Leave  me  to  my  complaints.  Fair  Amoret  must 
dwell  as  before  in  this  evil  prison,  and  Scudamore 
must  die  of  sorrow." 

"By  heaven!"  cried  Britomart,  "it  were  a 
shameful  thing  to  give  up  some  noble  purpose  for  fear 
of  danger,  without  some  venture  made.  Let  us  make 
a  trial  at  the  least,  and  see  what  shall  come  to  pass." 


I30  SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND   AMORET 

And  as  she  spoke  the  bold  maiden  threw  her 
broad  shield  before  her  face,  and  pointing  her  sword 
straight  in  front  of  her,  threw  herself  upon  the  fire; 
and  behold  the  flames  straightway  parted  asunder, 
leaving  a  space  in  the  middle  through  which  she 
passed,  as  a  flash  of  lightning  passes  through  the 
clouds.  And  when  Sir  Scudamore  saw  how  she 
had  traversed  the  fire  safe  and  untouched,  he 
essayed  to  follow  her.  But  whether  it  was  that 
there  was  a  certain  jealousy  in  his  heart,  or  some 
less  pure  desire,  or  some  lack  of  faith,  to  him  the 
flames  yielded  not  one  jot.  His  pride  and  fierce- 
ness availed  him  nothing;  he  was  constrained  to 
return  most  piteously  burnt.  Greatly  was  he 
troubled  at  this  defeat,  so  that  he  threw  himself 
on  the  ground  and  groaned  aloud  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  heart. 

Britomart  meanwhile  had  made  her  way  into 
the  palace  of  the  Enchanter.  The  first  chamber 
was  a  wondrous  place,  all  its  walls  being  covered 
with  tapestries  picturing  the  triumphs  of  love. 
Many  a  strange  tale  of  the  gods  might  there  be 
seen,  and  with  the  gods  was  shown  a  great  multi- 
tude of  men  and  women,  both  of  high  degree  and 
low,  kings  and  queens  and  knights  and  ladies,  and 
peasants  and  women  who  worked  with  their  hands, 
for  love  has  no  respect  of  person,  and  there  are 
none  but  feel  his  power.  And  round  about  the 
tapestries  was  woven  a  border  of  broken  bows  and 
shivered  arrows,  and  through  them  flowed  as  it 
were  a  river  of  blood.    At  the  end  of  the  chamber 


SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND   AMORET  131 

was  an  altar,  and  on  the  altar  was  set  the  image 
of  a  boy.  Blindfolded  was  he,  and  in  his  hand  he 
held  a  deadly  bow  with  an  arrow  set.  And  on  his 
shoulders  he  carried  a  quiver,  and  some  of  the 
shots  were  tipped  with  gold  and  some  with  lead, 
and  under  his  foot  was  a  dragon  which  had  been 
smitten  through  with  a  dart.  Under  his  feet  was 
written  this  inscription:  *^The  Conqueror  of  the 
Gods."  All  this  the  maid  beheld,  and  also  she  saw 
that  over  every  door  in  the  chamber,  and  there 
were  many  such  doors,  the  words  were  written: 
"Be  Bold!"  But  over  one  door  at  the  very  end 
of  the  chamber  were  these  words  to  be  seen,  "Be 
not  Over-Bold."  Much  she  marvelled  to  see  no 
living  creature,  for  the  whole  place  was  silent  and 
empty.  But  the  day  being  now  far  spent,  she  lay 
down  to  sleep,  but  was  careful  to  keep  her  arms 
close  at  hand  should  need  arise. 

She  slept  not  untroubled.  First  there  was  the 
sound  of  a  great  trumpet;  but  whether  it  were 
blown  for  victory  or  for  warning  she  knew  not. 
And  after  the  trumpet  there  was  a  great  storm  of 
wind,  with  thunder  and  lightning,  and  after  the 
lightning  an  earthquake,  and  after  the  earthquake 
a  great  stench  and  smoke  of  sulphur,  yet  was  not 
Britomart  one  whit  dismayed.  Then,  as  she  won- 
dered what  these  things  might  mean,  a  great  whirl- 
wind blew  throughout  the  house,  and  the  door  over 
which  the  words  "Be  not  Over-Bold"  were  written, 
flew  open  of  its  own  accord.  And  out  of  it  there 
issued  a  marvellous  array. 


132  SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND   AMORET 

First  came  Fancy,  in  likeness  of  a  lovely  boy^ 
and  after  him  Desire,  and  then  Doubt,  ever  looking 
about  him  with  restless  eyes,  and  Danger,  and  Fear, 
who  ever  kept  his  eye  on  Danger,  and  Hope  in 
the  semblance  of  a  happy  maiden,  and  Suspicion, 
and  Grief  and  Fury,  and  many  more,  which  it  were 
long  to  name  one  by  one.  Thrice  did  they  march 
round  the  chamber,  and  then  returned  to  that  within 
from  which  they  had  come  forth.  And  when  the 
last  had  passed  through,  the  door  shut  as  it  had 
opened  at  the  first,  of  its  own  accord.  And  when 
the  maid  would  have  passed  though  it,  she  found 
it  locked  fast  against  her  and  beyond  all  her  strength 
to  open.  Then,  finding  that  she  could  do  nothing 
by  force,  she  had  recourse  to  craft,  purposing  not  to 
depart  from  the  chamber  till  the  next  night  should 
come,  and  with  the  night  the  same  procession  of 
figures  should  come  forth.  And  so  it  fell  out,  and 
when  the  door  opened  next  of  its  own  accord,  then 
Britomart  went  boldly  in.  Not  one  single  figure 
did  she  see  of  all  that  wondrous  company.  There 
was  no  living  creature  in  the  chamber,  save  one 
lady  of  woeful  aspect,  whose  hands  were  bound 
fast  together,  while  round  her  waist  was  a  chain 
which  bound  her  to  a  pillar.  And  before  her  sat 
the  Enchanter,  making  strange  characters,  which 
were  among  the  devices  of  his  art.  In  blood  he 
drew  them,  and  the  blood  seemed  to  be  drawn 
from  the  woeful  lady's  heart  by  an  arrow  which 
was  fastened  in  her  side.  When  the  Enchanter 
saw  the  maid  he  cast  his  magic  book  in  haste  to 


SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND  AMORET  133 

the  ground,  and  drawing  from  his  vest  a  murder- 
ous knife,  made  as  though  he  would  have  thrust 
it  into  the  lady's  side.  But  the  maid  caught  his 
hand  and  mastered  him.  Not  so  completely  did 
she  quell  him  but  that  with  a  sudden  wrench  he 
turned  the  dagger  upon  her  and  struck  it  into 
her  chest.  It  was  but  a  shallow  wound,  but  it 
moved  her  wrath,  and  she,  drawing  forth  her 
sword,  dealt  him  a  mighty  blow,  so  that  he  fell 
half  dead  upon  the  ground.  But  as  she  made 
ready  to  smite  him  again,  the  woeful  lady  cried: 
"Slay  him  not,  for  if  he  die  then  am  I  here  fast 
bound  for  ever;  for  only  he  that  has  bound  can 
loosen. " 

Full  wroth  was  Britomart  to  spare  so  foul  a 
wretch.  Nevertheless,  for  the  lady's  sake,  she 
held  her  hand,  and  said:  "O  wicked  man,  death, 
or  that  which  is  worse  than  death,  if  such  there 
be,  is  the  due  reward  of  your  crimes.  Neverthe- 
less you  may  live  if  you  will  restore  this  lady  to 
her  first  estate."  To  this  the  wretch,  so  reprieved 
beyond  all  hope,  gave  a  willing  consent,  and  taking 
up  his  book  began  to  reverse  his  evil  charms. 
Many  a  dreadful  thing  did  he  read  which  the  lady 
heard  with  trembling,  seeing  that  they  had  brought 
her  to  this  evil  plight.  And  all  the  while  Brito- 
mart stood,  with  her  sword  drawn  over  his  head, 
ready  to  smite  him  if  he  should  fail  of  his  promise. 
And  now  all  the  house  began  to  shake  around 
them,  and  the  doors  to  rattle.  Yet  was  not  the 
maid  dismayed,  but  watched   the  villain  as  he  un- 


134  SIR  SCUDAMORE  AND  AMORET 

did  the  charm.  And  now  the  chain  was  broken 
from  off  the  lady's  hands,  and  that  which  did  bind 
her  to  the  pillar  was  severed,  and  the  pillar  itself 
fell  into  ruins,  and  the  steel  by  which  her  life- 
blood  was  drained  away  came  forth  from  the 
wound,  no  one  drawing  it,  and  the  wound  itself 
was  closed  and  the  lady  herself  restored  to  her 
first  estate. 

When  she  found  herself  thus  whole  again,  she 
poured  out  her  heart  in  thanks  to  the  maid, 
throwing  herself  upon  the  ground  before  her. 
"Gentle  lady,"  said  Britomart,  "it  is  reward 
enough  to  have  done  you  this  service.  And  now 
forget  your  trouble,  and  take  comfort  to  yourself 
and  comfort  also  the  true  knight  who  has  suffered 
so  much  for  your  sake."  Right  glad  was  Amoret 
to  hear  such  kindly  words  of  the  man  whom  she 
loved.  Then  did  Britomart  take  the  chain  with 
which  Amoret  had  been  bound  and  bind  the 
Enchanter  with  it.  And  this  was  a  fit  beginning 
of  the  punishment  which  was  to  fall  upon  him. 
This  done,  they  turned  to  depart,  and  as  they 
passed  through  the  Enchanter's  abode,  lo !  all  the 
grace  and  glory  had  departed  from  it;  all  the  fair 
picturings  were  defaced,  and  when  they  came  to 
the  fiery  porch,  the  flames  were  vanished,  and 
the  place  was  like  to  a   torch   that   is   half  burned. 

But  as  nothing  in  the  world  is  without  trouble, 
so  to  their  great  trouble  they  found  no  one  await- 
ing them;  neither  did  Amoret  see  Sir  Scudamore, 
nor  Britomart  her  squire. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OF   SIR  PARIDELL   AND   OTHERS 

IT  was,  in  truth,  a  great  deliverance  that  Brito- 
mart  had  worked  for  the  Lady  Amoret. 
Nevertheless  this  same  lady  was  somewhat  in 
doubt  how  she  should  bear  herself  to  her  deliverer. 
For,  on  the  one  hand,  she  was  well  aware  that  all 
her  love  and  homage  was  due  to  Sir  Scudamore, 
nor  was  there  aught  in  her  heart  that  hindered  her 
from  rendering  it.  It  should  be  told  indeed  that 
she  was  not  only  betrothed  to  this  same  Scudamore, 
but  verily  wedded,  only  it  had  come  to  pass  on  the 
very  wedding-day,  when  the  guests  were  somewhat 
overtaken  with  wine,  that  the  enchanter  Busyrane 
had  entered  the  palace,  and,  under  cover  of  a  jest, 
had  carried  her  away  into  captivity.  So  now  she 
said  to  herself: 

^'This  is  a  very  noble  knight,  and  it  irks  me  to 
show  him  any  discourtesy;  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  fear  me  much  lest  I  should  seem  in  any  wise 
disloyal  to  my  own  dear  lord,"  for  she  knew  not 
that  Britomart  was  a  maid.  And  Britomart,  on 
her  part,  desiring  that  the  secret  should  not  be 
known,  bore  herself  with  a  certain  freedom.  Nothing 
unseemly  did  she  say  or  do;  but  none  had  guessed 
her  to  be  what  she  was. 

135 


136  OF  SIR  PARIDELL  AND  OTHERS 

As  they  journeyed  together  they  came  to  a 
castle,  where  a  great  company  of  knights  and  ladies 
had  assembled  to  hold  a  tournament.  Now  it  was 
a  custom  of  tournament  that  every  knight  entering 
the  lists  bore  the  colours  of  some  lady,  and  averred 
that  she  was  the  fairest  of  all  ladies,  and  that  he 
would  prove  it  with  spear  and  sword.  Thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  when  the  knights  were  gathered 
together,  and  the  master  of  the  ceremony  asked  of 
each  his  lady's  name,  a  certain  young  and  lusty 
knight  cried  out,  "My  lady  is  the  fair  Amoret, 
and  that  I  will  avow  with  spear  and  sword." 

When  Britomart  heard  these  words  she  was  not 
a  little  "v^Toth;  nevertheless  she  dissembled  her  anger, 
and  said  only,  *^ I  am  loath  to  make  strife;  but  this 
young  man  must  needs  make  good  his  words!" 
So  they  jousted  together,  and  the  knight  was  easily 
overthrown,  being  thus  made  to  suffer  for  coveting 
that  which  was  not  his.  But  Britomart,  seeing  that 
he  was  a  brave  man,  and  being  herself  as  courteous 
as  she  was  strong,  cast  about  how  she  could  save 
his  honour.  She  said,  therefore,  to  the  master  of 
the  ceremony:  "Let  me  have  this  knight  for  my 
champion."  And  as  she  spoke  she  doffed  her 
helmet,  and  her  golden  hair,  which  had  been 
cunningly  coiled  up  within,  fell  down  to  her  very 
feet.  All  that  stood  by,  both  Jadies  and  knights, 
were  not  a  little  amazed. 

Some  said,  "This  is  wrought  by  magic!" 
others,  "This  is  Bellona's  self  that  has  come  among 
mortal    men."    As    for    the    young    knight,   he  wor- 


OF  SIR  PARIDELL  AND   OTHERS  137 

shipped  her  as  though  she  were  divine,  and  the  fair 
Amoret,  all  her  doubts  being  removed,  was  knit  to 
her  in  the  closest  bonds  of  affection  and  tenderness. 

The  next  morning  they  departed  together  from 
the  castle,  the  one  ever  cherishing  in  her  heart 
the  thought  of  Sir  Artegall  and  the  other  of  Sir 
Scud  amor  e.  After  a  while  they  were  aware  of  two 
knights  riding  towards  them,  having  each  a  lady  at 
his  side;  ladies,  indeed,  they  were  not,  save  in 
outward  appearance,  for  one  was  the  false  Duessa, 
the  other  was  called  Ate,  which  name  by  interpre- 
tation is  Strife,  than  whom  there  is  no  more  baleful 
creature  under  the  sun,  and  she  has  her  dwelling 
hard  by  the  gates  of  hell.  Many  ways  are  there 
by  which  a  man  may  go  into  that  place,  but  none 
by  which  he  may  come  forth.  And  the  walls  on 
Qvery  side  are  hung  with  the  rent  robes  and  broken 
sceptres  of  kings,  shivered  spears  and  shields  torn 
in  twain,  spoils  of  Babylon  and  of  Rome,  relics  of 
great  empires  that  have  been  and  are  no  more. 
At6  herself  was  hideous  to  behold,  if  one  could  see 
her  as  she  was  in  truth.  But  now  she  was  fair  to 
look  at,  for  she  had  put  on,  as  can  all  evil  things, 
the  semblance  of  beauty. 

The  knight  who  rode  by  her  side  was  a  certain 
Blandamour,  gallant  and  strong,  and  most  expert  in 
arms,  but  of  a  fickle  and  inconstant  heart;  and  he 
that  was  companion  to  the  false  Duessa  was  Sir 
Paridell.  When  Sir  Blandamour  saw  from  afar 
Britomart  and  Amoret,  he  said  to  Sir  Paridell: 
"See  you,  my    friend,  that  knight  with  a  lady  by  his 


138  OF  SIR   PARIDELL   AND   OTHERS 

Side?  There  is  a  fair  adventure  for  you!"  But  Sir 
Paridell,  for  now  they  were  near  enough  to  discern 
the  fashion  of  Britomart's  arms,  perceived  that  this 
knight  bore  the  hke  scutcheon  to  one  by  whom  he 
had  of  late  been  worsted  in  battle ;  nor  was  he  minded 
to  tempt  his  fate  again. 

"I  know  that  knight  full  well,  Sir  Blandamour,'* 
he  said;  "he  proved  his  skill  on  me,  and  I  count  it 
folly  when  he  who  has  escaped  a  danger  challenges 
it  again." 

"Then  I,"  replied  Sir  Blandamour,  "will  try 
my  fortune;  take  you,  meanwhile,  this  dame  in 
charge."  And  he  laid  his  spear  in  rest  and  charged. 
Britomart,  on  her  part,  made  ready  to  receive  him, 
and  gave  him  an  uncouth  welcome.  Scarce  had 
they  met  than  he  found  himself  lying  helpless  on 
the  ground.  Meanwhile  his  conquering  adversary 
rode  on,  not  deigning  so  much  as  to  say  a  single 
word. 

When  his  companions  saw  in  what  an  evil  plight 
he  was,   they  hastened  to  his  help,  and  put  him  on 
his  steed,  for  mount  himself  he  could  not,  and  heW 
him  up  as  he  rode.     Ill-content  he  was  that  he  had 
ventured  so  much  and  won  so  little. 

After  that  they  had  journeyed  awhile,  they  saw 
two  knights  coming  towards  them  across  the  plain. 
When  Sir  Blandamour  perceived  them,  he  grieved 
more  than  ever  for  his  late  mishap,  for  he  saw  that 
one  of  them  was  his  old  enemy  Sir  Scudamore, 
knowing  him  to  be  such  by  the  device  that  he  wore, 
to  wit,  the  god  of  love  with  his  wings  spread  out  on 


OF  SIR  PARIDELL  AND   OTHERS  139 

this  side  and  on  that.  "Here,"  he  said  to  himself, 
*^is  evil  fortune!  Yonder  is  my  enemy,  and  I  am 
so  bruised  with  this  late  encounter  that  I  cannot  do 
battle  with  him.''  Then  he  said  to  Sir  Paridell: 
"My  friend,  will  you,  of  your  affection,  do  some- 
what for  me,  even  as  I  have  done  for  you?  My 
hurts  keep  me  back  from  battle,  but  I  have  just 
cause  of  enmity  against  yonder  knight.  Will  you, 
therefore,  maintain  this  my  cause  against  him?" 

Sir  Paridell  answered:  "Trouble  not  yourself. 
There  is  a  proverb  that  the  left  hand  rubs  the  right. 
As  you  have  fought  for  me,  so  will  I  for  you." 
Forthwith  he  laid  his  spear  in  rest,  and  charged, 
swift  as  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  Nor  was  Sir  Scuda- 
more  slow  to  make  himself  ready.  So  they  met  in 
fierce  encounter,  and  with  so  great  a  shock,  that 
both  were  driven  from  their  saddles,  and  they  lay 
stretched  upon  the  ground.  Sir  Scudamore  was 
soon  on  his  feet  again,  and  said  to  the  other: 
"Laggard,  why  lie  you  so  long?"  But  Sir 
Paridell  lay  tumbled  in  a  heap,  without  sense  or 
speech,  all  unheeding  of  his  adversary's  reproach. 
Then  his  companion  ran  to  him,  and  unlaced  his 
helmet,  and  loosened  his  coat  of  mail,  and  so 
brought  him  back  to  feeling;  but  not  a  word  did  he 
speak.    Then  said  Sir  Blandamour: 

"False  knight,  you  have  overcome  by  craft  a 
better  man  than  yourself.  It  is  well  for  you  that 
I  am  not  in  such  good  case  to-day  that  I  can 
avenge  him." 

To   this   Sir  Scudamore   made  no   answer,  though 


I40  OF  SIR  PARIDELL  AND  OTHERS 

there  was  great  anger  in  his  heart.  Then  the 
false  Duessa,  not  seeing  how  her  ends  would  be 
served  by  a  quarrel  between  these  two,  would  have 
made  peace  between  them.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  Ate  made  up  a  fresh  contention,  for  she 
turned  Sir  Scudamore  against  Amoret,  slandering 
that  true  lady  with  false  tales  of  how  she  had  given 
her  love  to  a  stranger  knight,  who,  indeed,  was 
none  other  than  Britomart.  Nor  was  she  content 
with  this,  but  she  made  a  quarrel  also  between 
Paridell  and  Blandamour.  And  the  contention 
between  these  two  grew  so  hot  that  they  were 
ready  to  do  battle  with  each  other.  What  had 
been  the  end  thereof  none  can  say,  but  by  good 
luck  there  came  that  way  a  certain  squire  who  was 
well  known  to  both,  and  not  a  Httle  beloved  by 
them.  No  easy  thing  was  it  for  him  to  get  hearing 
from  the  two,  so  full  of  fury  were  they.  Yet,  at 
the  last,  he  persuaded  them  to  stay  their  hands. 
This  done,  he  said:  "Brave  knights,  you  ought  to 
be  at  peace  and  not  at  variance.  There  are  those 
that  seek  your  harm,  and  you  would  do  well  to  ally 
yourselves  against  them.''  Thus  he  persuaded 
them  to  swear  friendship  again.  So  being  recon- 
ciled, they  pursued  their  journey.  After  a  while 
they  saw  two  knights  and  two  ladies  with  them, 
and  they  sent  on  their  squire  to  inquire  who  these 
might  be.  And  when  the  squire  came  back  to  his 
company  he  said:  "These  are  two  famous  knights, 
brave  Cambell  and  stout  Triamond;  and  the  ladies 
are  Cambina,  who  is  wife  to  Cambell,  and  Canace, 


OF  SIR   PARIDELL  AND   OTHERS  141 

who  is  wedded  to  Triamond.  But  would  it  please 
you,  gentle  sirs,  to  hear  their  story,  for  I  know  it 
well,  and  it  is  worth  the  hearing?" 

Sir  Blandamour  answered,    "Speak   on."     So  the 
squire  told  this  tale  that  follows. 


CHAPTER  XX  j 

THE  STORY  OF  CANACE  AND  THE  THREE  BROTHERS 

THERE  was  a  great  lady  in  Fairyland,  Agape 
by  name,  who  had  three  sons,  born  all  of 
them  at  one  birth;  and  the]  names  of  the  three 
were  Priamond,  Diamond,  and  Triamond.  Also 
she  had  a  daughter,  Cambina  by  name.  Now  the 
Lady  Agap6  greatly  desired  to  know  how  long 
her  sons  should  live,  for  they,  having  a  mortal 
for  their  father,  must  needs  die  some  day,  whereas 
she,  being  of  fairy  race,  was  immortal.  Having, 
therefore,  this  thought  in  her  mind,  she  made  her 
way  to  the  place  where  the  three  Fates  sit  by  the 
distaff  spinning  the  lines  of  Life.  One  sister 
draws  out  the  thread,  and  another  turns  the 
spindle,  and  yet  another,  sitting  by  with  the 
shears  in  her  hand,  cuts  the  thread  when  the  due 
time  is  come.  Deep  in  the  hidden  places  of  the 
earth  was  the  dwelling  of  the  three,  and  the  way 
thereto  was  dark  and  hard  to  find;  but  Agape  had 
in  her  heart  all  the  wisdom  of  Fairyland,  nor  did 
she  fail  to  accomplish  her  purpose.  When  she  had 
come  to  the  place  she  sat  awhile,  and  watched  the 
sisters  at  their  work.  At  last,  having  seen  all  that 
they  did,  she  declared  why  she  had  come:    *^I    have 

142 


THE  STORY  OF  CANACE  143 

three  sons,"  she  said,  "mortal  men,  though  I  my- 
self am  immortal;  and  I  greatly  desire  to  know 
how  long  they  will  live."  One  of  the  sisters,  she 
that  held  the  shears,  was  very  angry  when  she 
heard  these  words:  "You  have  done  ill,"  she  said, 
"in  coming  here  on  this  errand.  These  things  are 
not  for  anyone,  mortal  or  immortal,  to  know. 
You  deserve  to  be  smitten  with  the  Curse  of 
Jupiter  —  you  and  your  children  with  you." 

Agape  was  greatly  frightened  at  these  words. 
Still  she  held  to  her  purpose,  and  with  many 
prayers  and  entreaties  prevailed  upon  her  that 
held  the  spindle,  for  she  was  less  hard  of  heart 
than  the  sister  who  held  the  shears,  to  show  her 
the  threads  of  the  three  youths.  When  she  saw 
them  she  cried,  "I  pray  you  draw  them  out  longer 
and  of  a  stouter  thread." 

"Nay,"  said  the  sister,  "think  you,  O  foolish 
one,  that  the  purposes  of  the  Fates  may  be  changed 
as  are  the  purposes  of  men  ?  It  is  not  so ;  what 
they  decree  stands  fast  for  ever;  the  gods  may 
not  move  it  by  one  hair's-breadth,  no,  nor  the 
ruler  of  the  gods  himself." 

Then  answered  Agape:  "If  this  be  so,  if  you 
cannot  add  one  jot  to  the  thread  of  any  man's  life, 
still  there  is  a  boon  which  you  can  give  me.  I  see 
the  thread  of  my  eldest  son,  and  it  is,  I  perceive, 
the  shortest  of  the  three.  Grant  that  when  it  is 
cut  with  the  shears,  it  may  be  added  to  the  thread 
of  the  second,  and  that  in  like  manner  when  the 
thread  of  the  second  is  cut,  it  may  be  joined  to  the 


144  THE  STORY  OF  CANAC& 

third.  So  shall  he  have  a  treble  portion,  and  yet 
the  whole  shall  not  have  been  increased. '^ 

The  sisters  said,  "This  shall  be  so."  There- 
upon the  Lady  Agap6  departed  to  her  own  home. 
She  told  her  sons  nothing  of  this  journey  which 
she  had  taken,  or  of  the  things  which  she  had  seen 
and  heard,  or  of  the  boon  which  had  been  granted 
to  her  in  the  matter  of  their  Hves.  But  she  said 
to  them,  not  at  that  time  only,  but  after,  whenever 
she  could  find  occasion:  "O  my  sons,  be  careful 
and  walk  in  safe  ways;  but,  above  all  things,  love 
one  another,  whatever  may  befall."  And  this  they 
did  all  their  lives.  Never  was  there  any  strife  be- 
tween them,  but  only  great  friendship  and  concord, 
of  which  the  most  signal  proof  is  now  to  be  told. 

There  was  a  fair  lady  in  those  parts,  Canace  by 
name,  who  was  wiser  than  all  the  women  of  her 
day.  She  knew  all  the  powers  of  nature,  and 
could  see  beforehand  the  things  that  should  come 
to  pass,  and  knew  the  speech  of  beasts  and  birds. 
And  as  she  was  wise  above  all  others,  so  also  did 
she  excel  in  goodness.  To  these  things  she  added 
also  a  singular  beauty,  so  that  many  lords  and 
knights  of  the  land  came  to  woo  her.  To  these 
she  bare  herself  rightly  courteously,  but  favoured 
none,  no,  not  so  much  as  by  a  word  or  a  look. 
But  it  came  to  pass,  as  is  the  way  in  such  matters, 
that  the  more  she  held  herself  aloof,  the  more 
eagerly  did  these  lords*  and  knights  urge  their  suit 
upon  her.  And  not  a  few  quarrels  came  about  on 
her  account,   one  suitor  meeting  another  in  battle. 


THE  STORY  OF  CANACE  145 

Now  this  Canace  had  a  brother,  Cambell  by 
name,  as  brave  and  stout  a  knight  as  ever  lived. 
And  he,  seeing  that  great  mischief  might  arise 
out  of  these  quarrels  concerning  his  sister,  caused 
all  her  wooers  to  come  together,  and  made  this 
proclamation  among  them: 

"Ye  Lords  and  Knights  that  seek  my  sister 
Canace  in  marriage,  choose  now  from  among 
yourselves  the  three  whom  you  judge  to  be  the 
boldest  and  most  skilful  in  battle  among  you,  and 
let  them  meet  me  in  combat,  man  by  man,  and  it 
shall  be  that  whosoever  of  the  three  shall  prevail 
over  me  shall  have  my  sister  to  wife." 

Now  this  Cambell  was,  as  has  been  already  said, 
a  brave  knight  and  a  stout;  yet  for  all  his  strength 
and  courage  he  had  scarcely  dared  to  stand  up  in  this 
fashion  against  so,  many.  For,  indeed,  it  might 
well  come  to  pass,  such  are  the  chances  of  battle, 
that  one  or  other  might  prevail  over  him,  not  being 
the  better  man,  but  by  reason  of  some  accident. 
But  there  was  that  which  encouraged  him  to  dare 
so  much,  to  wit,  a  magic  ring  which  his  sister  had 
given  him.  It  was  a  ring  of  many  virtues,  but  the 
chief  of  them  all  was  this,  that  if  he  who  wore  it 
should  be  wounded,  this  ring  straightway  staunched 
the  bleeding. 

Now  this  matter  of  the  magic  ring  and  its 
marvellous  virtues  was  known  to  all,  and  the 
suitors  ot  the  Lady  Canace  were,  for  the  most 
part,  terrified  by  it,  so  that  they  would  not  venture 
on  the  battle.     "Fair  she  is  without  doubt,"   they 


146  THE  STORY  OF  CAN  ACE 

said,  "but  it  would  be  a  fool's  part  to  venture 
life  even  for  her."  Nevertheless  there  were  three 
among  them  who  were  not  of  this  way  of  think- 
ing, and  these  three  were  the  brothers  Priamond, 
Diamond,  and  Triamond.  They  all  loved  the 
Princess,  and  yet,  so  brotherly  were  they  in  heart 
and  mind,  that  there  was  not  a  thought  of  anger 
or  jealousy  among  them.  "Let  her  choose,"  said 
they,  "between  us,  and  we  will  be  content  with 
her  choice.  Or,  if  the  judgment  be  left  to  the 
sword,  then  let  him  be  preferred  who  shall  over- 
come this  her  brother  Cambell." 

So  the  three  addressed  themselves  to  the 
battle  in  the  order  of  their  age.  First  came 
Priamond,  the  eldest,  a  stout  knight  to  hold  his 
place,  but  he  was  not  so  strong  to  strike  as  are 
some.  He  loved  to  fight  on  foot,  and  his  arms 
were  the  spear  and  the  battle-axe.  Next  to  him 
was  Diamond;  he  was  one  to  deal  mighty  blows, 
but  he  was  not  so  good  in  holding  his  ground. 
Whether  he  were  on  horseback  or  on  foot  he 
cared  not,  so  that  he  had  his  battle-axe  in  hand, 
for  with  this  he  loved  to  fight.  Last  of  all  came 
Triamond.  There  was  no  man  better  than  he, 
whether  to  stand  or  to  strike;  the  fight  on  horse- 
back pleased  him  best,  and  his  arms  were  spear 
and  shield. 

On  a  set  day  the  hsts  were  prepared.  Barriers 
were  made  to  keep  off  the  press  of  the  people.  At 
one  end  sat  six  judges,  who  should  see  that  all 
things  were  done  decently  and   in  order,   and   that 


THE  STORY  OF  CAN  ACE  147 

neither  this  warrior  nor  that  should  take  undue  ad- 
vantage; and  at  the  other  was  set  the  fair  Canace 
on  a  stage,  that  she  might  see  the  battle  and  herself 
be  seen.  The  first  that  came  into  the  Hsts  was 
Sir  Cambell.  Noble  was  his  mien  and  assured  his 
look,  as  of  one  that  knew  certainly  that  he  should 
prevail.  After  him  advanced  the  three  brothers, 
bravely  attired  and  shining  in  arms,  each  with  his 
banner  borne  before  him.  Thrice  did  they  bow 
themselves  before  the  fair  Canace,  and  then  a 
blast  of  the  trumpet  gave  the  signal  for  battle. 

First  of  the  three  to  meet  Sir  Cambell  came 
Priamond;  well  skilled  in  arms  were  the  two,  and 
for  long  they  fought  without  advantage  to  one  or 
the  other.  Mighty  the  blows  that  they  dealt,  but 
both  had  watchful  eyes  and  ready  skill  to  turn 
the  deadliest  stroke  aside.  The  first  gain  fell  to 
Sir  Priamond,  for  his  spear,  whether  by  good 
fortune  or  by  skill  it  were  hard  to  say,  passed  by 
his  adversary's  shield  and  pierced  the  shoulder 
where  a  joint  of  the  armour  gave  it  access.  Deep 
was  the  wound,  and  though  no  blood  flowed  there- 
from —  such  was  the  virtue  of  the  magic  ring  —  it 
stung  the  warrior  to  the  quick  with  keenest  pain. 
There  are  whose  spirit  is  quelled  with  pain;  but 
Sir  Cambell  was  not  of  these.  The  smart  did 
but  rouse  his  courage  to  the  utmost,  and  put  new 
strength  into  his  arm.  Straightway  he  drave  his 
spear  close  underneath  Sir  Priamond 's  shield  and 
smote  him  on  the  thigh.  The  coat  of  mail  did 
not  stay  it,  but    that  it  made  a  grisly  wound,   and 


148  THE  STORY  OF  CANACE 

the  stout  knight  tottered  with  the  blow,  even  as 
an  old  oak,  withered  and  sapless,  rocks  with  every 
blast  of  the  wind.  Nor  did  Cambell  fail  to  use 
the  occasion.  He  smote  him  yet  again  upon  the 
side,  making  another  deadly  wound,  and  though 
the  spear  brake  with  the  blow,  he  did  not  abate 
his  onset,  but  drave  the  shaft  through  the  visor 
of  Sir  Priamond's  helmet,  and  laid  him  low  upon 
the  ground.  So  fell  the  first  of  the  three  brothers; 
yet  did  not  his  soul  depart,  but  by  virtue  of  the  gift 
of  the  Fates  it  passed  into  the  bodies  of  the  two 
that  yet  remained,  making  them  stronger  and  more 
eager  for  the  fray. 

Nevertheless,  when  Sir  Diamond  addressed 
himself  to  the  battle,  the  lists  having  been  cleared 
afresh,  and  the  trumpet  sounded  a  second  time, 
he  fared  no  better  than  his  brother.  For  a  while 
the  two  stood  face  to  face,  giving  and  receiving 
equal  blows,  but  without  advantage  either  to  the  one 
or  to  the  other.  But  then  a  great  gust  of  wrath 
swept  through  Sir  Diamond's  soul,  driving  away 
all  thought  but  of  how  he  might  most  speedily 
avenge  his  brother.  And,  indeed,  the  very  soul 
of  the  brother  stirred  within  him.  So  he  lifted 
high  his  mighty  battle-axe,  swinging  it  over  his 
head,  and  bringing  it  down  on  his  adversary  with 
all  the  force  that  was  in  his  body.  And,  surely, 
had  the  blow  fallen  as  it  was  meant,  there  had 
been  an  end  of  strife.  No  magic  ring  had  availed 
to  stay  so  dreadful  an  onset.  It  had  crushed  out 
Sir    CambelPs    life,    whether    with    or    without    the 


THE  STORY  OF  CANACE  149 

shedding  of  blood.  But  fortune  helped  him  in 
his  need,  for  judging  where  the  axe  would  fall,  he 
swerved  aside,  so  that  the  stroke  missed  the  mark, 
and  the  striker's  right  foot  sHd  from  under  him. 
So  we  may  see  a  hawk  strike  at  a  heron  with  all 
his  might;  so  strong  is  the  blow,  that  it  would 
seem  as  if  nothing  could  turn  it  aside;  but  the 
heron,  a  wary  bird,  sees  it  come,  and  lightly  avoids 
it,  so  that  the  hawk  is  well-nigh  brought  to  the 
ground  ere  the  force  of  his  onset  is  sped.  So 
fared  it  with  Sir  Diamond;  not  only  so,  but  while 
he  reached  forward  with  his  left  arm  to  recover 
himself,  he  left  his  side  unguarded  by  the  shield. 
Which  thing  Sir  Cambell  did  not  fail  to  perceive, 
for  swinging  his  axe,  he  smote  him  between  the 
topmost  rings  of  the  coat  of  mail  and  the  lowest 
rings  of  the  helmet,  which  spot  is  ever  dangerous 
to  the  warrior,  how  well  soever  he  be  armed. 
There  did  Sir  Cambell  smite  Sir  Diamond,  with 
an  arm  so  sure  and  deadly  that  he  shore  his  head 
from  his  body. 

And  now  ensued  the  fiercest  fight  of  all,  yea, 
and  also  the  strangest.  Well  might  a  man  wonder 
to  see  how  Sir  Cambell  stood  up,  neither  faint  nor 
weary,  for  all  that  he  had  been  changing  blows  for 
the  space  of  an  hour  and  more.  Yet  did  he  seem 
even  fresher  and  brighter  than  at  his  first  taking  of 
arms,  just  as  some  great  serpent  wakes  from  the 
long  sleep  of  winter,  when  the  warm  breath  of 
spring  has  touched  him,  and  throws  off  the  ragged 
skin  of  his  old  estate,  and  raises  himself  in  the  sun- 


I50  THE  STORY  OF  CAN  ACE 

shine  with  all  the  glory  of  his  youth  renewed.  Such 
freshness  and  vigour  did  the  magic  ring  work  in 
calHng  out  all  the  strength  that  he  had,  for  all  the 
magic  in  the  world  had  not  availed  to  help  a  coward 
or  a  sluggard.  Against  him  stood  a  worthy  foe, 
with  the  might  of  three  stout  champions  in  his  heart 
and  in  his  limbs.  Once  and  again,  yea,  many  times, 
did  it  seem  that  this  or  that  warrior  had  prevailed. 
Now  was  Cambell  beaten  to  his  knee,  till  all  the 
company  thought  he  must  needs  lose  the  day,  and 
now  was  Triamond  stretched  upon  the  ground,  like 
to  one  who  has  received  a  mortal  wound.  And 
once,  indeed,  the  two  lay  together  at  full  length,  as 
though  they  had  been  dead.  The  judges  rose  from 
their  place,  and  the  marshals  of  the  lists  came  for- 
ward as  to  carry  the  two  corpses  to  the  appointed 
place,  and  the  fair  Canace  cried  out  in  her  despair, 
for  it  seemed  as  if  both  brother  and  lover  had  been 
taken  from  her  at  once.  But  lo !  in  a  moment  the 
two  were  standing  on  their  feet  again,  and  address- 
ing themselves  anew  to  the  battle.  What  had  been 
the  end,  whether  the  virtue  of  the  magic  ring  had 
overcome  the  triple  might  of  him  in  whom  dwelt 
the  spirits  of  three  brave  men,  who  can  say?  For 
now  there  was  heard  such  a  clamour,  such  a  confu- 
sion of  voices,  such  a  shouting  of  men  and  wailing 
of  women  and  shrill  crying  of  children,  that  all 
turned  their  faces  to  look,  and  the  two  champions 
by  common  consent  stayed  their  hands  till  they 
could  see  what  strange  things  had  happened.  And, 
indeed,    it   was   a   marvellous   sight    that   they   saw. 


THE  STORY  OF  CANAC^  151 

There  came  speeding  along  the  ground,  fast  as  a 
thunder-cloud  that  rides  the  sky,  a  chariot  richly 
adorned  with  gold  and  purple  in  the  Persian  fashion. 
Two  lions  from  the  forest  drew  it,  mighty  beasts, 
such  as  could  not  be  surpassed  for  strength  and 
fierceness  in  any  land,  but  now  they  had  forgotten 
their  savageness  to  obey  the  pleasure  of  their  driver. 
And  this  was  a  lady  of  wonderful  beauty,  and  not 
less  wise  than  fair,  for  she  had  been  taught  all  the 
arts  of  wholesome  magic  by  the  fairy,  her  mother. 
In  her  right  hand  she  carried  a  wand  with  two 
serpents  twined  about  it,  and  in  her  left  a  cup  filled 
to  the  brim  with  nepenthe,  the  wondrous  drink  of' 
which  he  that  tastes  straightway  forgets  all  grief 
and  anger  and  care. 

This  was  the  Lady  Cambina.  daughter  of  Agape, 
and  sister  to  Sir  Triamond,  and  she,  knowing  by 
her  art  in  what  deadly  peril  her  dear  brother  stood, 
came  to  his  help.  All  the  people  made  a  way  for 
her  to  pass,  so  that  she  could  approach  the  lists. 
These  first  she  struck  with  her  wand,  and  they  fell 
at  the  stroke.  Then  she  said  to  the  two  champions, 
^' Cease  now  your  strife  and  be  at  peace."  And 
when  they  would  not  hear,  but  made  as  if  to  renew 
the  battle,  she  cast  herself  upon  her  knees  and 
besought  them  with  many  prayers  and  tears  to 
cease  from  their  anger;  and  when  they  still  hardened 
their  hearts,  she  smote  them  lightly  with  her  wand. 
So  soon  as  they  felt  the  touch,  the  swords  dropped 
from  their  hands.  Then,  as  they  stood  astonished, 
not  knowing  what  had  befallen  them,  she  gave  the 


152  THE  STORY  OF  CAN  ACE 

cup  first  to  one  and  then  to  the  other;  and  they, 
as  being  consumed  by  mighty  thirst,  drank  each  a 
mighty  draught.  Straightway  the  magic  Hquor 
turned  all  their  strife  to  love;  they  clasped  hands, 
and  plighted  troth  to  each  other,  and  swore  that 
they  would  be  friends  for  ever.  And  such  indeed 
they  were  to  the  end  of  their  days;  ay,  and  Cam- 
bell  took  to  wife  Cambina,  and  Triamond  wedded 
the  fair  Canace. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   STORY  OF   FLORIMELL 

IT  has  been  related  before  how  Sir  Guyon  and 
Prince  Arthur  parted  company  with  Britomart 
with  the  purpose  of  reHeving  a  fair  lady  in  distress. 
Now  the  name  of  this  same  lady  was  Florimell. 
She  was  courted  by  many  knights  of  high  degree, 
but  her  love  was  given  to  Sir  Marinell,  the  same 
that  was  overthrown  by  Britomart  in  the  passage 
by  the  sea ;  but  he,  on  his  part,  had  no  thought  for 
her,  being  mindful  of  his  mother's  counsel  that  he 
should  hold  himself  aloof  from  all  womankind.  So 
fast  did  Florimell  fly,  for  she  was  in  grievous  fear, 
that  the  two  knights  who  followed  with  intent  to 
give  her  help,  could  by  no  means  overtake  her. 
After  a  while  the  strength  of  the  white  palfrey  on 
which  she  rode  wholly  gave  out,  and  she,  alighting, 
made  her  way  on  foot,  a  thing  which  she  had  never 
done  in  all  her  life  before,  so  delicately  bred  was 
she.  But  need  teaches  many  lessons,  this  being 
chief  among  them,  that  Fortune  holds  the  lots  of  all 
in  equal  scales,  and  has  no  respect  of  persons.  So 
travelling,  she  came  to  a  hillside,  from  which,  look- 
ing down,  she  espied  a  valley  thickly  covered  with 
trees,   and   through  the  tree-tops    a   thin  vapour  of 

153 


154  THE  STORY  OF  FLO  RIM  ELL 

smoke  issuing  forth.  "Here,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"is  a  dwelKng  of  man,  where  haply  I  may  find 
shelter  and  rest.''  So  she  bent  her  steps  thither, 
and  after  a  while  reached  the  place,  being  now  sorely 
spent  with  trouble  and  weariness.  A  dwelling  there 
was,  but  of  the  humblest  kind,  a  little  cottage,  built 
with  reeds  and  wattled  with  sods  of  grass.  In  this 
there  dwelt  a  witch  woman.  Most  sparely  did  she 
live,  careless  of  all  common  things,  for  her  mind 
was  wholly  given  to  her  art,  for  the  better  and  more 
secure  practice  of  which  she  lived  far  from  all 
neighbours. 

When  Florimell  came  in  the  witch  was  sitting 
on  the  ground,  and  was  so  busied  with  one  of  her 
enchantments  that  she  was  taken  wholly  unawares. 
At  the  first  she  was  overcome  with  fear,  for  she 
would  not  that  any  should  surprise  her  while  she 
was  busy  with  her  art.  Then,  her  fear  changing  to 
anger,  as,  indeed,  it  is  commonly  wont  to  do,  she 
cried  in  a  loud  voice:  "Stranger,  what  mischief  has 
brought  you  hither?  Here,  of  a  truth,  you  will 
find  no  welcome.'' 

Florimell  answered:  "Mother,  be  not  angry  with 
a  simple  maid,  who  has  been  brought  to  your 
dwelling  by  hard  chance,  and  asks  only  for  leave  to 
rest  awhile."  And  as  she  spoke  the  tears  came 
trickling  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  heaved  a  sigh, 
so  softly  and  sweetly,  that  there  could  be  no 
creature  so  hard  and  savage  that  would  not  have 
pitied  her.  Even  the  witch,  for  all  that  her  soul 
was    given   to   mischief,    was   much    moved   at   the 


THE  STORY  OF  FLORIMELL  155 

sight,  and  sought  to  comfort  her  in  such  rude 
fashion  as  she  knew,  for  even  in  her  the  sight  of 
such  beauty  and  virtue  moved  the  hidden  sense 
of  womanhood.  So,  wiping  the  tears  from  the 
damsel's  eyes,  she  bade  her  rest  awhile.  This  she 
was  nothing  loath  to  do,  and  sat  down  upon  the 
dusty  floor,  as  a  bird  spent  with  tempest  cowers 
upon  the  ground.  After  a  while  she  began  to  set 
aright  the  garments  that  she  wore,  and  to  put  in 
order  her  golden  hair.  All  this  the  witch  woman 
saw  with  wonder  that  still  waxed  greater  and 
greater.  "Is  this  a  mortal  maid,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "or  one  of  Diana's  train?" 

This  same  witch  woman  had  a  son,  very  dear 
to  her,  and  in  a  sort  the  comfort  of  her  age,  but  a 
lazy,  evil-minded  loon,  always  idling  away  his  time, 
and  loath  to  follow  any  honest  trade.  He  was 
abroad  when  Florimell  came  to  the  cottage,  and 
when  he  returned,  he  was  not  a  httle  amazed  to 
see  so  fair  a  creature  sitting  by  his  mother's  hearth. 
But  the  maiden  bore  herself  so  meekly,  fitting 
herself  to  the  low  condition  of  the  place,  that  she 
soon  ceased  to  be  strange  to  mother  and  son.  This 
was  a  thing  to  be  desired;  yet  it  had  in  it  this  dis- 
comfort, that  the  witch's  son  began  to  love  her. 
He  would  bring  gifts  for  her,  such  as  birds  which 
he  taught  to  speak  her  name,  and  squirrels  which, 
he  said,  were  as  fellow-slaves  with  himself,  and 
flowers  to  make  garlands  for  her  head.  All  these 
she  graciously  received.  Nevertheless  she  was  not 
a  little  troubled  in  her  heart,  for  she  could  not  but 


156"  THE  STORY  OF  FLO  RIM  ELL 

perceive  the  love  which  the  young  man  bore  her. 
Therefore  she  determined   in  herself  to  depart. 

By  this  time  her  palfrey  vi^as  well  rested  from  its 
weariness,  for,  indeed,  the  young  man,  the  son  of 
the  witch,  had  tended  it  with  all  care.  Early, 
therefore,  one  morning  she  put  its  strappings  on 
the  beast,  and  so  departed. 

Great  was  the  anger  of  the  witch  and  her  son 
when  they  knew  that  Florimell  was  gone.  As  for 
the  disappointed  lover,  his  fury  passed  all  bounds. 
He  beat  upon  his  breast  and  scratched  his  face, 
and  tore  his  flesh  with  his  teeth.  When  his  mother 
saw  him  in  so  evil  a  plight,  she  did  all  that  she 
could  to  comfort  him.  Tears  and  prayers  she  used, 
and  charms  and  herbs  of  might;  but  all  were  of  no 
avail.  When  she  saw  this,  fearing  lest,  in  his 
despair,  he  should  bring  himself  to  a  violent  end, 
she  said  within  herself:  ^^I  must  bring  the  creature 
back."  So  she  called  out  of  the  cave  a  hideous 
beast  that  served  her.  It  was  a  creature  hkest  to 
a  hyena,  for  its  back  and  sides  were  covered  with 
spots.  But  never  was  seen  anything  that  could  be 
matched  with  it,  so  fierce  of  aspect  was  it,  and  so 
swift.  The  witch  said  to  him:  ^'Follow  this 
woman,  and  do  not  leave  following  till  you 
overtake." 

So  the  monster  followed  Florimell,  and,  as  she 
rode  leisurely,  soon  overtook  her.  When  she  saw 
him,  she  set  spurs  to  her  palfrey,  and  he,  so  long  as 
he  was  fresh  and  full  of  breath,  kept  her  out  of  the 
creature's  reach.     But  when  his  breath  failed   him, 


THE  STORY  OF  FLO  RIM  ELL  157 

then  the  monster  drew  near.  This  Florimell  per- 
ceiving, leapt  from  her  saddle  and  fled  away  on  her 
feet.  Now  it  chanced  that  she  was  close  to  the 
seashore,  and  she,  being  minded  to  be  drowned, 
rather  than  be  overtaken  by  so  foul  a  beast,  ran  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  waves.  There,  by  good  hap, 
she  saw  a  little  shallop  lying,  in  which  the  fisher- 
man, an  old  man  and  poor,  lay  asleep,  the  while  his 
nets  were  drying.  Into  this  she  leapt,  and  pushing 
off  the  shallop  with  an  oar,  was  safe  awhile.  The 
monster  would  not  venture  on  the  sea,  for  it  was 
not  to  his  liking,  and  so  set  out  to  return  to  his 
mistress  the  witch,  to  tell  her  how  his  quest  had 
failed.  But  first  he  turned  upon  the  palfrey  and 
rent   it. 

Scarcely  had  the  beast  done  this,  when  there 
came  that  way  a  gallant  knight,  Sir  Satyrane  by 
name,  the  same  that  had  befriended  the  Lady  Una 
in  her  distress.  He,  seeing  the  palfrey  lie  dead 
upon  the  ground,  knew  it  for  that  on  which  the 
Lady  Florimell  had  been  wont  to  ride;  also  he 
found  the  golden  girdle  which  she  had  been  wont 
to  wear,  for  it  had  fallen  from  her  in  the  haste  of 
her  flight.  These  things  greatly  troubled  him,  and 
when,  looking  round,  he  also  saw  the  monstrous 
beast  which  had  pursued  her,  standing  by,  his  fear 
was  changed  to  anger,  and  he  flew  upon  it  and 
dealt  it  many  blows  with  all  his  might.  Many 
wounds  did  he  give  it,  causing  much  blood  to  pour 
out  of  its  carcase ;  but  the  beast  he  subdued  not, 
with  such  spells  had  the  witch    woman    fortified  it 


158  THE  STORY  OF  FLO  RIM  ELL 

against  all  assault.  At  the  last  he  threw  away  his 
sword,  for  in  truth  the  steel  seemed  to  avail  nothing 
against  the  creature's  hide,  and  caught  it  in  his 
arms  as  if  he  would  have  crushed  the  life  out  of  it; 
also  he  took  the  girdle  of  Florimell  and  bound  the 
beast  with  it.  Never  in  truth  had  it  known  such 
constraint,  for  in  a  moment  all  its  rage  was  quelled, 
and  it  followed  him  meek  as  a  lamb  which  the 
shepherd  has  rescued  from  the  lion's  mouth.  And 
this,  without  doubt,  it  had  continued  to  do,  but  for 
this  chance,  that  Sir  Satyrane  was  called  away  upon 
another  adventure.  He  spied  a  giantess  riding  on 
a  dappled  grey  steed,  holding  before  her  a  squire 
fast  bound  with  chains  of  wire,  and  a  knight  pur- 
suing her.  Therefore  he  made  haste  to  put  himself 
in  her  way.  She  would  have  passed  him  by,  but 
he  would  not  suffer  it,  running  at  her  with  his  spear. 
Thereupon  she  was  constrained  to  deal  with  him, 
and  would  have  smitten  him  with  a  great  mace  of 
iron  which  she  carried  in  her  hand,  and  with  which 
she  had  already  slain  not  a  few.  But  ere  she  could 
deal  the  blow,  his  spear  came  full  upon  her  shield. 
So  great  was  the  shock,  that  her  horse  staggered  to 
and  fro;  but  she  was  not  moved  one  whit  in  her 
place,  nor  was  the  shield  broken.  Rather  the  shaft 
of  the  spear  was  shivered  on  it,  for  all  it  was  big 
and  strong.  Nor  did  she  delay  to  strike  him  with 
the  mace  of  iron.  Full  on  his  helmet's  crest  she 
smote  him,  and  that  so  sturdily  that  he  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  breast  and  reeled  to  and  fro  like  to 
a  drunken    man.    Which    the    giantess    perceiving, 


THE  STORY   OF  FLO  RIM  ELL  159 

caught  him  in  her  arms,  and  put  him  on  the  saddle 
before  her,  for  the  squire  she  had  already  cast  to 
the  ground.  Then  truly  had  Sir  Satyrane  been  in  / 
an  evil  plight,  but  for  the  knight  that  was  pursuing. 
He,  indeed,  seeing  what  had  chanced,  made  the 
greater  haste  to  overtake  her,  but  she,  not  desiring 
another  battle,  or  because  she  especially  feared  the 
other  knight,  threw  Sir  Satyrane  to  the  ground,  and 
thus  he  was  deHvered.  But  meanwhile  the  witch's 
monster  had  departed. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

OF  THE  FALSE  FLORIMELL 

THE  monster  sped  on  as  fast  as  it  could  to  the 
dwelling  of  its  mistress,  the  witch  woman. 
When  she  saw  it,  she  perceived  how  it  was  bound 
with  Florimell's  girdle.  At  this  she  rejoiced  greatly, 
and  showed  the  thing  to  her  son,  thinking  that  he 
also  would  rejoice.  *'See,"  said  she,  "this  thank- 
less creature  has  not  escaped.     Behold  her  girdle." 

But  he  was  otherwise  minded.  "Surely,"  he 
cried,  "she  is  dead,  this  fairest  of  all  maidens!" 
And  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  torn  the  very 
heart  out  of  his  breast.  So  mad  was  he  with 
anger  and  grief,  that  he  would  have  slain  his 
mother  where  she  stood.  Only  she  hid  herself 
in  a  secret  place  where  she  was  wont  to  call  up 
the  evil  spirits  which  served  her.  And  now  she 
summoned  them  to  her  help,  telling  them  what  had 
come  to  pass.  "Counsel  me,"  she  said,  "for  my 
son  is  distraught  with  anger  and  grief  and  love,  and 
either  he  will  lay  violent  hands  on  himself,  or  he 
will  slay  me,  though  I  have  done  my  very  best  to 
serve   and   help   him." 

So  the  spirits  took  counsel  together  in  the  matter, 
and  by  their  advice,  her  own  wicked  wit  helping, 

i6o 


OF  THE  FALSE  FLORIMELL  i6i 

she  contrived  a  marvellous  thing.  She  set  herself 
to  make  another  Florimell,  a  false  maid,  Hke  in  all 
things  to  the  true,  so  far  as  concerned  shape  and 
outward  semblance.  The  substance  of  which  she 
made  her  was  snow,  which  she  gathered  in  a  secret 
glade  of  the  Thracian  hills,  the  spirits  of  the  moun- 
tains having  revealed  to  her '  the  place.  This  snow 
she  tempered  with  fine  mercury  and  virgin  wax, 
which  had  never  been  touched  with  fire.  These 
she  mingled  with  vermilion,  so  making  a  rosy  red 
in  the  cheeks.  And  for  eyes  she  set  two  lamps, 
whose  fire  was  marvellously  attempered  to  the 
likeness  of  Hfe;  and  hair  she  made  of  golden  wire, 
more  marvellously  light  than  ever  was  hair  of 
woman;  and  for  life  to  make  this  dead  mass  move 
and  breathe  —  for  dead  it  was  for  all  its  beauty  — 
she  put  one  of  the  spirits  which  served  her.  A 
wicked  spirit  was  this,  none  more  wicked  or  crafty, 
or  with  a  more  cunning  art  to  take  the  semblance  of 
goodness.  There  was  no  need  to  teach  him  how  to 
bear  himself.  This  he  knew  already;  there  was  no 
subtlety  or  craft  in  all  the  wit  of  woman  with  which 
he  was  not  acquainted.  Such  was  the  false  Florimell. 
This  creature  she  arrayed  in  some  of  the  gar- 
ments which  the  true  Florimell  had  left  behind 
her,  and  so  brought  her  to  her  son,  where  he  lay 
groaning  on  the  earth.  "See,  my  son,"  she  said, 
'^the  maid  herself  has  come  back  to  us."  And 
when  he  saw  her,  he  leapt  from  the  ground,  and 
would  have  caught  her  in  his  arms.  But  she  held 
back,   for    the    spirit    within    her    knew    well    how 


1 62  OF  THE  FALSE  FLORIMELL 

women  bear  themselves  in  such  a  case,  neither 
seeming  too  fond,  yet  giving  such  encouragement 
as  might  the  more  confirm  him  in  his  passion. 
Such  was  the  charge  which  the  witch  woman  laid 
upon  him. 

One  day,  as  the  son  was  walking  with  the  false 
Florimell  in  the  wood,  there  chanced  to  come  by  a 
certain  knight  with  a  squire  attending  him.  And 
now  it  must  be  said  who  this  fellow  was,  for,  indeed, 
he  was  no  true  knight.  It  has  been  already  told 
how  that  Sir  Guyon,  when  he  was  helping  a 
traveller  in  distress,  had  his  horse  and  his  spear 
also  stolen  from  him.  The  thing  was  done  by  a 
vain  fellow,  Bragadocchio  by  name,  who,  seeing  the 
horse  and  spear  ready  to  his  hand,  thought  that  by 
taking  them  he  might  make  himself  into  a  veritable 
knight.  Little  had  he  of  his  own  but  a  ready 
tongue;  but  this  same  tongue  was  no  small  help 
with  the  more  foolish  sort.  He  then,  mounting  the 
steed,  and  taking  the  spear  in  hand,  rode  on,  and  so 
vain  was  he,  and  full  of  self-conceit,  that  he  hoped 
to  be  courteously  received  for  what  he  seemed  to 
be.  And  in  this  notion  his  first  adventure  con- 
firmed him.  As  he  rode  along  he  saw  a  man 
sitting  idly  on  a  bank;  and  he  said  to  himself: 
''Here  is  one  whom  I  will  make  captive  to  my 
spear."  With  that  he  smote  his  steed  upon  the 
flank,  and  set  his  spear  in  rest  and  charged.  The 
man,  when  he  saw  him  coming  on,  fell  flat  on  the 
ground  for  fear,  and  cried  for  mercy,  holding  up 
his  hands.    At  this  Bragadocchio  took  a  wonderful 


OF   THE   FALSE   FLORIMELL  163 

conceit  of  his  own  strength  and  courage:  "Who 
are  you,  caitiff?'^  he  cried.  "You  are  not  worthy 
to  breathe  the  air  along  with  honest  men.  Prepare 
for  death,  or  yield  yourself  to  be  my  prisoner  for 
ever.  'Tis  no  small  favour  that  I  give  you  time  to 
answer!" 

The  man  cried:  "Hold  your  death-dealing 
hand,    my  lord,  I   am   your   thrall!" 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  sham  knight,  "your  fate 
has  baulked  my  will,  and  given  you  life  when  I  had 
purposed  death.  So  be  it;  life  I  give  you.  Fall 
on  the  ground,  and  kiss  my  stirrup.  So  pay  your 
homage." 

Then  the  wretch  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
and  kissed  the  stirrup,  and  declared  himself  to  be 
Bragadocchio's  man.  For  a  while  he  held  his 
master  in  great  respect,  but  when  he  found  out  how 
hollow  was  his  show  of  courage,  then  he  grew 
bolder,  and  practised  upon  him  for  his  own  ends. 
Trompart  was  his  name,  which,  being  interpreted, 
means  deceiver;  a  worthy  squire  he  was  for  such 
a  knight. 

They  had  not  long  companied  together  when 
they  chanced  to  meet  Archimage,  who  was  looking 
out  for  some  men-at-arms  to  help  him  in  his  evil 
designs.  He,  coming  close  to  Trompart,  said  to 
him  under  his  breath:  "Who  is  this  mighty 
warrior,  who  has  a  spear  only  and  no  sword?" 

Said  Trompart:  "He  is  indeed  a  mighty 
warrior;  as  for  his  sword,  he  has  made  a  vow 
that  he  will  use  none  till  he  shall  be  avenged  for 


1 64  OF   THE  FALSE  FLO  RIM  ELL 

a  certain  wrong  that  has  been  done  to  him.  Mean- 
while his  spear  is  enough:  he  can  do  to  death  with 
that  as  many  as  he  will."  Then  Archimage,  louting 
low  before  him,  told  a  false  tale  about  the  Red-Cross 
Knight  and  Sir  Guyon,  which  when  Bragadocchio 
had  heard,  he  cried  with  a  loud  voice:  ^^Old  man, 
tell  me  where  these  false  knights  are  hiding  them- 
selves. I  will  soon  punish  them  for  all  their  mis- 
deeds." 

"That  will  I  do  without  delay,"  answered 
Archimage,  "and  will  help  you  also  when  you 
come  to  deal  with  them.  Meanwhile  I  would  give 
you  this  counsel,  that  you  give  no  odds  to  your 
adversaries,  but  provide  yourself  with  a  sword 
before  you  do  battle  with  them,  for,  indeed,  they 
are  sturdy  fighters." 

"Old  man,"  said  Bragadocchio,  "you  dote. 
Doubtless  your  wits  have  failed  you  by  reason  of 
age,  or  you  would  not  judge  of  a  man  by  his  coat 
of  mail  or  his  sword.  A  man,  be  he  indeed  a  man, 
can  quell  a  host  without  sword  or  shield.  Little  do 
you  know  what  this  right  hand  of  mine  has  achieved; 
but  they  who  have  seen  it  can  tell  if  they  will." 

Not  a  little  abashed  was  Archimage  at  these 
high  words;  well  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  whoso 
should  do  battle  with  the  Red-Cross  Knight  or  Sir 
Guyon  would  need  all  his  arms,  and  yet  he  feared 
to  offend  this  knight.  Then  Bragadocchio  said 
further:  "Once  upon  a  time  I  slew  seven  knights 
with  one  sword.  And  I  took  a  great  oath,  having 
done   this,   never  again   to  use  a  sword   in  battle, 


OF   THE  FALSE   FLORIMELL  165 

unless  it  should  be  the  sword  of  the  very  noblest 
knight  in  all  the  world." 

"Wait  you  for  that,"  said  Archimage,  "then 
you  shall  have  it  by  to-morrow  at  this  time.  'Tis 
the  sword  of  Prince  Arthur,  and  it  flames  like  a 
burning  fire.  Lo !  I  go  to  fetch  it."  And  as  he 
spoke  he  vanished  into  air. 

"What  is  this?"  thought  the  two  to  themselves 
in  sore  dismay,  for  they  Hked  little  to  have  aught 
to  do  with  such  a  sword.  And  they  fled  from  the 
place  as  fast  as  they  could  to  hide  themselves  in 
a  wood  which  was  near  at  hand.  This  they  had 
scarcely  reached  when  they  heard  the  clear  ringing 
of  a  horn.  Thereupon  Bragadocchio  leapt  from 
his  horse  and  hid  his  coward  head  in  a  thicket.  As 
for  Trompart,  he  was  not  easily  moved,  but  abode 
in  his  place  to  see  what  should  happen.  Soon 
there  came  into  the  glade  where  they  were  a  very 
fair  lady  dressed  in  huntress  fashion.  She  had  a 
fair  white  tunic  with  an  edge  of  gold  and  gilded 
buskins,  and  a  boar-spear  in  her  hand,  and  on  her 
shoulder  a  bow  and  a  quiver  filled  with  steel-headed 
arrows.  And  all  about  them  flowed  loosely  down 
her  golden  hair.  When  she  spied  Trompart  she 
said:  "Saw  you  a  hind  with  an  arrow  in  her  right 
haunch  ?  If  so,  tell  me  which  way  she  went,  that 
I  may  follow  up  the  chase."  But  while  she  was 
speaking,  she  saw  the  bush  stir  in  which  Braga- 
docchio lay  hid,  and  thinking  it  was  some  beast  of 
prey,  would  have  shot  an  arrow  into  it. 

But    Trompart    cried:     "Forbear,    I    pray    you, 


1 66  OF   THE  FALSE  FLO  RIM  ELL 

whether  you  be  nymph  or  mortal  maid.  That  is 
no  mark  for  your  arrows.  My  master,  a  famous 
knight,  rests  awhile  under  the  shade."  So  she 
stayed  her  hand,  and  Bragadocchio  came  forth 
from  his  hiding-place  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
after  stood  up,  making  as  if  he  had  been  newly 
roused  from  sleep.  After  this  they  talked  awhile, 
and  when  the  lady  had  passed  on,  Bragadocchio 
said  to  Trompart:  "I  had  from  my  birth  this  grace, 
not  to  fear  any  mortal  thing.  But  of  the  heavenly 
powers  and  of  the  fiends  in  hell  I  do  stand,  I  do 
honestly  confess,  in  great  dread.  And  when  I  heard 
that  horn,  I  took  it  for  some  signal  from  the  sky, 
and  hid  myself  for  fear.  And  now  let  us  depart 
hence. '^ 

Such  was  Bragadocchio,  the  false  knight  who 
came  upon  the  son  of  the  witch  woman  as  he  was 
walking  in  the  wood  with  the  false  Florimell. 
When  he  saw  the  two,  and  perceived  that  the  lady 
was  very  fair  to  look  upon,  and  that  he  who  was 
with  her  was  no  man  of  war,  he  rode  up,  with  his 
spear  in  rest,  crying,  "Clown,  how  is  this?  This 
lady  is  my  love.     Gainsay  it  if  you  dare!" 

The  churl  dare  not  answer  him  a  word,  but 
yielded  the  damsel  to  him.;  and  he,  mounting  her 
upon  Trompart's  horse,  rode  on,  not  a  httle  proud 
of  the  valiant  deed  which  he  had  done.  Nor  had 
he  ridden  long  when  there  came  in  view  a  stranger 
knight,  who  cried:  "Ho  there!  Yield  the  damsel 
to  me;  I  have  a  better  right  than  you!" 

Sorely    dismayed    was    Bragadocchio    at    such   a 


OF  THE  FALSE   FLORIMELL  167 

challenge,  but  dissembled  his  fear,  saying,  "Think 
you.  Sir  Knight,  to  steal  away  with  words  what 
I  have  won  by  many  blows  ?  Yet,  if  you  will  have 
trial  of  my  strength  or  prove  your  own,  let  it  be  so." 

"Turn  your  horse,"  said  the  stranger,  "or  I 
will    strike    you   dead!" 

"So  be  it,"  answered  Bragadocchio,  "if  nothing 
else  will  content  you.  Let  us  then  retire  our  horses 
for  a  furlong  either  way,  and  tilt  together  as  is  the 
custom."  So  they  turned  their  horses,  and  retired 
each  a  furlong's  length;  but  Bragadocchio  came  not 
again,  but  fled  away  as  fast  as  his  horse  could 
carry  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
SIR  satyrane's  tournament 

BY  sundry  adventures,  which  there  is  no  need  to 
set  forth  in  their  place,  the  girdle  of  Florimell 
came  into  the  possession  of  Sir  Satyrane,  who 
forthwith  resolved  to  hold  in  honour  of  it  a  great 
tournament.  In  this  same  tournament  there  should 
be,  so  he  proclaimed,  two  contests;  first,  a  contest 
of  knights,  who  should  joust  with  each  other,  so 
showing  who  excelled  in  strength  and  courage; 
second,  a  contest  of  fair  ladies,  she  who  should 
most  fittingly  wear  the  said  girdle  being  adjudged 
the  most  excellent. 

The  beginning  of  the  tournament  was  that  Sir 
Satyrane  came  forth  from  his  pavilion,  holding  in 
his  hands  an  ark  of  gold.  This  ark  he  opened 
with  much  solemnity,  and  drew  forth  from  it  the 
girdle.  A  wondrously  fair  thing  it  was,  curiously 
embossed  with  pearls  and  precious  stones;  they 
were  all  costly  things,  but  the  workmanship  was 
costlier  yet.  This  he  held  up  for  the  general 
view;  and  all  eyes  were  drawn  to  it,  for  indeed 
it  was  a  thing  greatly  to  be  admired;  nor  was  there 
one  in  all  that  company  but  said  in  his  heart: 
*^ Happy  the  knight  who  shall  win  so  fair   a  prize! 

i68 


SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT  169 

Happy  the  dame  who  shall  be  deemed  to  wear  it 
most  fittingly." 

The  girdle  having  been  thus  displayed  in  the 
sight  of  all  the  concourse,  the  knights  disposed 
themselves  for  the  jousting.  And  first  of  all  Sir 
Satyrane  came  forth  holding  in  his  hand  the  great 
spear  which  he  was  wont  to  wield;  no  man  in  those 
days  bore  one  greater,  or,  indeed,  so  great.  He 
was  the  challenger,  and  it  became  him  thus  to  be 
first  in  the  field.  Behind  him  were  ranged  the 
knights  of  Fairyland,  owning  allegiance,  all  of 
them,  to  the  great  Queen  Gloriana.  On  the  other 
side  was  ranged  a  great  company  of  knights,  who 
had  come  from  all  parts.  First  of  these  rode  up 
a  pagan  knight.  Sir  Bruncheval,  surnamed  the 
Bold  (he  jousted  with  Sir  Satyrane),  whose 
mastery  of  arms  had  been  tried  in  many  battles. 
Fierce  was  their  onset,  so  fierce  that  neither  could 
resist  the  other;  but  both  were  tumbled  on  the 
plain,  holding,  indeed,  their  spears  in  their  hands, 
but  not  able  to  move  them  so  much  as  a  hair's- 
breadth.  When  Sir  Ferramont  saw  his  leader  in 
this  plight,  he  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  rode 
forth.  Against  him  came  out  Sir  Blandamour, 
putting  all  his  strength  into  his  stroke;  but  his 
strength  availed  him  nothing,  for  he  was  tumbled 
on  the  ground,  he  and  his  horse  together.  And 
when  Sir  Paridell  rode  forth  to  his  rescue,  he  fared 
no  better.  The  next  in  turn  to  contend  was  Braga- 
docchio,  but  the  thing  was  not  to  his  Hking,  and  he 
stood  still  in  doubt  what  he  should  do,  or  rather  in 


I70  SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT 

fear.  Thereupon  Sir  Triamond,  vexed  indeed  that 
a  brave-seeming  knight  should  bear  himself  so 
basely,  but  rejoicing  in  the  occasion,  rode  forth 
with  his  spear  in  rest,  and  charged  on  Sir  Ferra- 
mont  with  all  his  might.  So  sure  was  the  stroke, 
that  both  man  and  horse  were  laid  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  nor  could  they  lift  themselves  again  for  a 
space.  And  when  Sir  Devon  rode  forth  from  the 
Fairyland  array  he  fared  no  better;  nor  did  Sir 
Douglas,  nor  Sir  Palimord,  when  in  turn  they 
made  trial  of  him.  Either  they  were  stretched  on 
the  plain  or  went  sorely  wounded. 

By  this  time  Sir  Satyrane  had  woke  out  of  the 
swoon  in  which  he  had  lain  so  long.  Looking 
round,  he  was  sorely  dismayed  to  see  the  havoc 
which  Sir  Triamond  had  wrought  among  the 
knights  of  Queen  Gloriana.  "Truly,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "I  had  rather  been  dead  than  laid  here 
helpless  while  such  deeds  were  done."  Then, 
gathering  strength,  he  laid  hold  of  his  spear, 
which  lay  close  beside  him;  his  horse  also,  by 
good  fortune,  was  at  hand.  Mounting,  therefore, 
he  rode  forth  again  to  where  the  brave  Triamond 
was  carrying  all  before  him.  Not  a  man  could 
stand  up  against  him,  so  heavy  were  his  strokes, 
so  deadly  was  his  hand.  But  now  there  came  a. 
stay  to  his  achievements;  Sir  Satyrane  smote  him 
on  the  side  with  his  great  spear,  and  the  point 
made  a  most  grievous  wound.  So  grievous  was  it, 
that  though  he  was  not  forthwith  overthrown,  he 
was  fain  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  field.    Then 


SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT  171 

the  challengers  ranged  over  the  lists,  claiming  to 
be  conquerors,  and,  indeed,  no  one  was  ready  to 
take  them  in  hand.  And  now  the  night  fell,  and 
the  trumpets  sounded  a  retreat.  That  day,  there- 
fore, Sir  Satyrane  was  adjudged  to  have  won  the 
prize. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  tournament  Sir 
Sat)Tane  rode  forth,  with  Queen  Gloriana's 
knights  following  him,  to  challenge  all  comers. 
And  on  the  other  side  also  were  many  famous 
warriors,  eager  all  of  them  to  win  the  prize  for 
himself.  But  Sir  Triamond  was  not  one  of  these; 
his  wound  was  so  grievous  that  it  hindered  him 
from  making  a  trial  of  arms.  So  he  was  con- 
strained to  stand  aside,  but  it  grieved  him  sorely. 
This  his  close  friend  Sir  Caml:)el]  perceiving,  said 
to  himself:  ^^I  cannot  cure  his  hurt,  nor  undo  the 
thing  which  has  been  done;  but  this  I  can  do; 
I  can  win  honour  for  him."  Therefore  he  took 
Sir  Triamond's  arms,  none  knowing,  neither  Sir 
Triamond  himself,  nor  anyone  else,  for  he  said  to 
himself:  "If  I  fare  ill  in  this  matter,  the  blame  will 
not  fall  on  my  friend." 

He  went  therefore  to  fight,  no  one  doubting 
that  he  was  the  veritable  Triamond.  When  he 
was  come,  he  found  Sir  Satyrane,  full  of  joy  and 
triumph,  for  no  one  was  able  to  stand  up  against 
him.  At  him,  therefore,  he  charged,  with  his  spear 
in  rest;  nor  did  Sir  Satyrane,  on  his  part,  draw 
back  from  the  encounter.  With  so  great  a  shock 
did    they    meet    that    both   were   driven    from   their 


172  SIR  SATYRANE'S  TOURNAMENT 

saddles  to  the  ground.  Rising,  therefore,  they 
drew  both  of  them  their  swords,  and  fought  there- 
with such  a  fight  as  had  scarce  been  seen  before 
in  that  land.  And  now  Sir  Satyrane's  horse,  for, 
by  this  time,  they  had  both  again  mounted  their 
steeds,  chanced  to  stumble,  so  that  his  rider  was 
well-nigh  cast  to  the  ground.  This  Sir  Cambell 
perceiving,  was  not  slow  to  seize  the  occasion,  but 
dealt  him  so  sore  a  blow  on  the  crest  of  his  helmet 
that  he  fell  to  the  ground.  Then  Sir  Cambell  leapt 
from  his  steed,  and  would  have  spoiled  him  of  his 
arms.  But  this,  which,  indeed,  is  a  custom  of  the 
battlefield  rather  than  of  the  tourney,  the  knights 
who  were  of  Sir  Satyrane's  party  would  not  suffer. 
Hastening  to  their  comrade's  help,  they  closed  his 
adversary  in  so  close  a  ring  that  though  he  laid 
about  him  most  bravely,  yet  could  he  not  deliver 
himself  —  for  what  could  one  against  so  many  ?  So 
he  was  taken  prisoner  and  led  away. 

It  chanced  somehow  that  the  news  of  what  had 
befallen  Sir  Cambell  came  to  Sir  Triamond  where 
he  lay  in  his  bed.  In  a  moment  of  time  he  leapt 
therefrom,  wholly  forgetting  his  wound,  and  sought 
for  his  armour.  He  sought,  but  he  found  it  not, 
for  indeed,  Cambell  was  wearing  it  at  the  very 
time.  But  the  arms  and  armour  of  Sir  Cambell 
he  found.  These  he  donned  without  delay,  and 
issued  forth  to  take  such  chance  as  might  befall 
him.  There  he  saw  his  friend  and  companion 
Cambell  as  he  was  led  away  captive  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  press  of  knights,   and   the   sight   moved 


SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT  173 

him  to  great  wrath.  He  thrust  himself  into  the 
thickest  of  the  press,  and  smote  down  all  that  were 
in  his  way  till  he  came  to  where  Cambell  was  led 
a  prisoner  between  two  knights.  Fiercely  did  he 
assail  these  two,  and  they,  for  their  own  lives'  sake, 
were  constrained  to  let  him  go.  Then  he,  seizing 
a  sword  from  one  of  them,  laid  about  him  with  all 
his  might,  for  both  his  own  wrong  and  the  wound- 
ing of  his  friend  stirred  a  great  wrath  in  him.  So 
these  two  made  great  havoc  over  all  the  field,  till 
the  trumpet  sounded  the  end  of  the  battle  for  that 
day.  By  common  consent  the  prize  of  the  day  was 
adjudged  to  these  two,  Cambell  and  Triamond,  but 
to  which  of  the  two  was  doubtful,  for  they  strove 
together,  each  advancing  the  other's  cause,  so  that 
the  matter  was  postponed. 

-  On  the  third  and  last  day  of  the  tournament 
many  valiant  deeds  were  done,  not  without  great 
hurt  and  damage  to  many  that  contended  in  the 
field.  There  might  be  seen  that  day  full  many 
a  shivered  shield,  and  swords  strewn  upon  the 
ground,  horses  also  running  loose  without  their 
riders,  and  squires  helping  their  lords  who  were 
in  evil  plight.  But,  for  the  most  part,  the  knights 
of  the  Queen  fared  the  better,  and  among  the 
knights  there  was  not  one  that  fought  with  better 
success  than  the  brave  Sir  Satyrane.  Now  and 
again  his  fortune  failed  him;  but  ever  it  returned 
again,  and  he  was  the  best  stay  and  support  of  his 
side. 
But   when   it  was  now  past   noon,    there    came 


174  SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT 

forth  from  the  other  side  a  strange  knight  whom 
no  one  knew.  Strange  he  was  and  strange  was  his 
disguise,  for  all  his  armour  was  covered  with  moss 
from  the  wood,  and  his  horse  had  trappings  of  oak 
leaves,  and  on  his  shield,  which  had  ragged  edges, 
was  written  this  motto:  Salvagesse  sans  Finesse. 
He,  as  soon  as  he  had  come  upon  the  field, 
charged  the  first  knight  that  was  in  his  way. 
This  was  the  stout  Sir  Sanglier,  a  valiant  man, 
well  approved  in  many  battles;  but  now  he  was 
laid  low  at  the  very  first  encounter.  And  after 
him  Sir  Brianor  came  to  a  worse  fate,  for  he  was 
killed  outright.  Seven  knights,  one  after  the  other, 
he  overthrew;  and  when  his  spear  was  broken, 
then  he  worked  no  less  damage  with  his  sword. 
Shields  and  helmets  he  broke  through,  and  wasted 
all  the  array  of  knights,  as  a  lion  wastes  a  flock  of 
sheep.  So  Satyrane  and  his  party  were  turned  to 
flight,  for,  indeed,  no  man  could  stand  before  him. 
And  when  they  would  find  out  his  name,  no  one 
knew  it,  so  that  they  were  constrained  to  call  him 
the  Savage  Knight.  But  he  was  in  truth  Sir 
Artegall. 

It  was  said  by  a  wise  man  of  old  time  that  no 
man  should  be  accounted  happy  before  the  end, 
because  it  cannot  be  known  what  change  of  fortune 
may  befall  him.  And  so  it  proved  that  day  with 
Sir  Artegall.  For  when  the  sun  was  laid  low  in 
the  heavens,  but  before  the  trumpet  had  sounded, 
there  came  forth  from  the  ranks  of  the  Queen's 
knights     a      stranger.      First     he     charged    at    Sir 


SIR  SATYRANE'S   TOURNAMENT  175 

Artegall  and  tumbled  him  backwards  over  his 
horse's  tail,  with  so  heavy  a  fall  that  he  had  small 
desire  to  rise  again.  This  when  Sir  Cambcll  saw 
he  charged  with  all  his  might;  and  he,  too,  could 
be  seen  lying  on  the  plain.  In  like  manner  fared 
Sir  Triamond  when  he  would  have  avenged  his 
friend's  disgrace.  Nor  did  Sir  Blandamour  suc- 
ceed where  these  had  failed.  Many  another  famous 
knight  was  overthrown  that  day,  yet  without  loss 
of  honour,  for  they  had  to  yield  to  the  enchanted 
spear  of  Britomart.  So  when  the  trumpet  sounded 
on  the  third  day  of  Sir  Satyrane's  great  tournament, 
the  honour  rested  with  the  knights  of  Queen 
Gloriana. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
or  florimell's  girdle 

THE  tournament  being  ended,  the  next  thing  in 
order  to  be  done  was  to  adjudge  the  prizes. 
For  the  first  day  the  prize  was  given  to  Sir  Saty- 
rane,  as  has  been  told  before,  because,  having 
been  first  at  the  beginning,  he  was  also  first  at 
the  end.  For  the  second  day  Sir  Triamond  was 
held  to  have  excelled  all  others:  Cambell,  in- 
deed, was  victor,  but  then  Triamond  had  saved 
him  from  imprisonment,  and  he  who  saves  the 
victor  is,  without  controversy,  first  of  all.  For 
the  third  day  the  prize  was  adjudged  to  Brito- 
mart,  or,  as  men  called  her,  the  Knight  of  the 
Ebony  Spear,  for  who  she  was  in  truth  no  one 
knew.  Nor  could  this  judgment  be  disputed,  for, 
whereas  the  Savage  Knight  had  overthrown  all 
others,  so  was  he  overthrown  by  her.  And  this 
third  prize  was  held  to  be  the  most  honourable 
of  all,  and  the  knight  to  whom  it  was  given  the 
first  of  all.  And  because  by  good  right  beauty 
and  valour  go  together,  there  must  needs  be  a 
trial  of  the  dames,  who  should  be  reckoned  the 
fairest,  with  the  girdle  of  Florimell  for  prize. 
First    came    Sir    Cambell,    leading    his    wife,    the 

176 


OF  FLO  RIM  ELL'S  GIRDLE  177 

fair  Cambina,  clad  in  a  veil  which  covered  her 
from  head  to  foot,  which  being  taken  away,  such 
was  her  beauty  that  all  hearts  were  won.  Never- 
theless, when  Sir  Triamond,  coming  next,  showed 
his  wife  Canace,  they  were  not  less  moved  by 
the  sight.  And  some  greatly  admired  the  false 
Duessa,  when  Sir  Paridell  led  her  forth  before 
the  company,  for  some  hearts  are  moved  by  one 
thing  and  some  by  another.  Nor  did  the  Lady 
Lucida,  whose  champion  was  Sir  Ferramont,  want 
for  worshippers;  nor,  indeed,  did  any  one  of  the 
hundred  dames  assembled  in  that  place,  lack  some 
to  champion  her.  Yet,  doubtless,  the  great  number 
of  the  votes  had  been  given  to  Amoret,  when 
Britomart  led  her  forth,  but  that  she  also  was 
surpassed  in  the  common  judgment  by  Sir  Blanda- 
mour's  Florimell,  not  the  true  Florimell,  it  must 
be  understood,  but  the  false  which  the  witch  woman 
had  made.  For  in  comparison  of  her  all  others 
seemed  but  base,  even  as  the  stars  seem  to  grow 
dull  when  the  moon  is  shining  at  her  full.  "This," 
said  they  all,  "is  no  mortal  creature,  but  an  angel 
from  heaven." 

Even  so  when  some  cunning  smith  overlays 
base  metal  with  covering  of  gold,  he  lays  upon  it 
so  fair  a  gloss  that  it  seems  to  surpass  the  true 
gold  itself.  So  they  who  had  looked  upon  the 
true  Florimell  thought  to  themselves,  "The  dame 
is  fairer  than  ever  before!"  For  ever  it  is  that 
false  things  do  seem  to  excel  the  true,  so  weak 
and  false  are  the  judgments  of  men. 


178  OF  FLORIMELUS  GIRDLE 

Then,  by  common  consent,  the  girdle  was  ad- 
judged to  her  as  being  the  fairest  of  all ;  but  lo ! 
when  they  thought  to  bind  it  round  her  waist, 
they  could  not  prevail  to  do  it.  So  soon  as  they 
fastened  it,  it  seemed  to  loose  itself  and  fall  away, 
as  if  there  was  some  secret  hindrance  and  want 
of  fitness.  And  so  it  fared  with  many  other  dames 
when  they  assayed  the  same;  when  they  would 
have  girt  the  thing  about  their  waists,  they  could 
not.  However  fast  it  seemed  to  be,  it  was  soon 
seen  to  be  loose.  Then  a  certain  squire,  who 
thought  scorn  of  women,  cried  aloud:  ^^ Surely 
this  is  a  sorrowful  sight,  that  out  of  so  many  fair 
dames  not  one  can  fit  to  herself  the  girdle  of 
beauty!  Shame  on  the  man  who  thought  of  this 
fatal  device!  May  he  never  find  fair  lady  to  love 
him!"  At  which  saying  all  the  knights  laughed 
loud,  and  all  the  ladies  frowned. 

And  now  the  gentle  Amoret,  coming  last  of 
all  that  company,  took  the  girdle  in  her  hands, 
and  put  it  around  her  waist,  and  lo!  it  fitted  to 
a  marvel.  But  the  false  Florimell  snatched  it 
away  as  if  in  anger,  and  would  have  clasped  it 
round  her  own  waist.  She  clasped  it,  but  it  fitted 
as  ill  as  before.  Nevertheless  it  was  adjudged  to 
her  as  her  right,  for  such  the  common  voice  had 
been;  and  she  herself  was  assigned  to  the  Knight 
of  the  Ebony  Spear,  that  is,  to  Britomart.  But 
she  was  ill-content:  *'Nay,  nay,"  she  said,  all 
thinking  that  it  was  the  Knight  of  the  Ebony 
Spear  that  spoke,   "I  am  no  light  of  love;    I  am 


OF  FLORIMELUS  GIRDLE  179 

still  steadfast  to  my  own  Amoret."  Then  she  was 
adjudged  to  the  Savage  Knight,  but  he  had  already- 
departed  in  great  wrath;  and  then  to  Triamond, 
but  he  was  faithful  to  his  Canace;  and  after 
Triamond  to  Sir  Satyrane.  He  indeed  was  well 
content.  But  then  arose  great  strife,  and,  Hke 
enough,  there  had  been  a  drawing  of  swords,  but 
for  this  strange  happening.  Sir  Satyrane  stood 
forth  and  said: 

** Surely  we  have  had  enough  of  battles;  why 
should  we  fight  again  the  old  quarrels?  Let  the 
fair  lady  choose  for  herself.  Surely  the  love  that 
comes  of  her  will  is  the  sweetest  of  all!"  To  this 
they  all  consented.  And  so  the  choice  was  given 
to  the  false  Florimell.  Long  looked  she  upon 
each  gallant  knight,  for  it  seemed  as  if  she  would 
willingly  have  pleased  them  all;  but  at  the  last  she 
turned  to  Bragadocchio,  for  he  also  stood  among 
the  rest,  and  said : 

"This  is  the  man  I  choose!'^  Great  was  the 
wrath  of  all  the  company  of  knights,  for  they  knew 
not  how  fitting  it  was  that  the  false  beauty  should 
choose  the  valour  that  was  false. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

OF  BRITOMART  AND  ARTEGALL 

BRITOMART  grew  not  a  little  weary  of  these 
strivings  of  knights  and  dames.  Therefore  she 
departed,  taking  with  her  the  Lady  Amoret,  for  she 
was  still  bent  on  finding  the  Knight  of  the  Mirror. 
An  unlucky  maid  she  was,  in  truth,  thus  seeking 
one  who  had  been  her  adversary,  to  whom  she  had 
been  so  near,  though  she  knew  it  not.  Great  was 
her  grief,  and  great  also  her  toil,  for  neither  grief 
nor  toil  did  she  spare,  thinking  that  could  she  find 
him,  there  would  be  both  an  end  of  her  own  toil 
and  a  solace  for  her  grief.  The  gentle  Amoret 
also,  who  was  her  companion,  had  a  sorrow  of  her 
own,  for  she  sought  for  her  Scudamore;  but  he, 
unhappy  man,  had  his  heart  full  of  hatred  and 
revenge.  For  that  evil  hag,  whose  name  was  Ate 
or  Strife,  had  poisoned  it  with  suspicion^.  The 
very  one  who  had  best  served  him,  he  hated  most, 
even  Britomart.  Neither  could  Glauce,  for  she 
went  with  him,  serving  him  as  a  squire,  abate  his 
rage,  for  all  that  she  could  say. 

And  now,  as  though  the  evil  counsels  of  Strife 
had  not  wrought  trouble  enough  for  him,  he  must 
needs   put   another   burden  on    his    soul.    As    they 

i8o 


OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL  i8i 

journeyed  on,  the  night  came  upon  them  unawares, 
very  heavy  with  cloud  and  rain.  They,  seeking 
some  place  where  they  might  find  shelter,  perceived 
upon  a  steep  hillside  what  seemed  to  be  a  poor  man's 
cottage.  And  underneath  there  ran  a  little  stream, 
•but  the  water  was  muddy  and  thick,  and  had  an 
evil  smell.  As  they  came  near  they  heard  the 
sound  of  hammers,  and  judged  that  it  riiust  be  a 
blacksmith's  forge.  Entering  in,  they  found  the 
goodman  of  the  place  busy  with  his  work.  He  was 
of  a  mean  and  wretched  aspect,  spent,  it  would 
seem,  with  weariness.  His  eyes  were  hollow,  and 
his  cheeks  fallen  in,  like  to  one  who  had  been  many 
months  in  a  prison  cell;  his  face  was  begrimed 
with  smoke  and  his  beard  ragged,  as  if  neither 
comb  nor  shears  had  ever  passed  upon  it.  Rude 
were  his  garments,  and  hanging  in  rags,  and  his 
hands  were  blistered  with  burning,  with  nails  long 
left  unpared.  Care  was  his  name,  and  his  trade 
was  the  working  of  wedges  of  iron.  To  what 
purpose  they  could  serve,  neither  he  nor  anyone 
knew.  Such  are  the  idle  doubts  and  fears  which 
Care  drives  into  the  hearts  of  men.  Nor  was  it  he 
alone  that  was  busy  with  this  toil;  six  stout  workers 
stood  about  the  forge,  all  with  huge  hammers  in 
their  hands,  which  they  pHed  in  order.  Much  did 
j  Sir  Scudamore  wonder  to  see  their  work;  but  when 
he  had  watched  it  awhile,  he  asked  them  of  its 
purpose,  saying,  "What  make  you?"  But  they 
answered  not  a  word,  nor  did  they  hold  their  hands 
for    a    moment;   the    bellows    blew    like    to    a    cold 


i82  OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL 

blast  from  the  north,  and  the  din  of  the  hammers 
ceased  not. 

When  the  knight  saw  that  no  one  answered,  he 
laid  himself  down  upon  the  floor,  seeking  to  rest 
his  weary  Hmbs;  Glance  did  the  Hke;  and  sore  was 
her  need  of  rest,  for  she  was  old  and  feeble,  and 
they  had  journeyed  that  day  a  long  and  weary  way. 
She  slept  indeed,  but  to  Sir  Scudamore  there  came 
no  sleeping.  Now  he  would  lie  on  this  side,  now 
on  that;  now  he  lay  in  one  place,  now  in  another. 
Anon  he  would  rise  from  his  place,  and  then  lie 
down  again.  But  every  change  was  to  no  purpose, 
and  every  place  seemed  full  of  pain.  Also  the  dogs 
howled  and  barked  all  the  night  long,  and  the  cocks 
crowed,  and  the  owls  hooted;  and  if  by  chance 
slumber  came  down  upon  his  eyes,  then  one  of  the 
workers  smote  his  headpiece  with  a  hammer,  for 
they  indeed  rested  not  all  the  night.  As  morning 
drew  near,  he  fell  into  a  sleep,  so  utterly  wearied  was 
he,  but  sleep  was  worse  than  waking,  for  it  brought 
evil  thoughts  of  those  whom  he  was  most  bound  to 
love  and   trust. 

The  next  day  Sir  Scudamore  and  ,Glauce, 
serving  him  as  his  squire,  started  betimes  from  the 
house  of  Care,  for  his  was  the  dwelling  where  they 
had  spent  the  night.  After  a  while  they  espied  a 
knight  sitting  beside  a  wood,  while  his  horse  grazed 
in  the  field  hard  by.  The  man  mounted,  so  soon  as 
he  saw  them,  and  rode  forward,  as  did  also  Sir 
Scudamore.  But  when  the  two  were  near  enough 
that   each   could  discern  what  arms   the  other  wore, 


OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL  183 

the  Knight  of  the  Wood  lowered  his  spear  and  turned 
his  horse  aside,  saying,  "Gentle  Scudamore,  pardon 
me,  I  pray  you,  that  I  had  unknowingly  almost 
trespassed  against  you!" 

"I  blame  you  not,"  answered  Sir  Scudamore; 
"such  happenings  may  well  be  to  knights  who  seek 
for  adventures.  But,  sir,  as  you  call  me  by  my 
name,  may  I  be  bold  enough  to  ask  you  yours  ? " 

The  other  made  answer:  "I  pray  you  pardon 
me  if  I  withhold  my  name  for  a  time;  the  time 
serves  not  that  I  should  make  it  known.  May  it 
please  you  to  call  me  the  Savage  Knight^  for  thus 
I  am  commonly  known." 

Sir  Scudamore  said:  *^This  place  seems  to  suit 
well  the  arms  which  you  are  pleased  to  wear.  But 
tell  me,  have  you  any  special  purpose  to  serve  that 
you  abide  in  this  place?" 

"Sir,"  rephed  the  other,  "be  it  known  to  you 
that  a  stranger  knight  did  me  but  the  other  day  a 
great  shame  and  dishonour,  and  I  wait  till  I  can 
take  vengeance  on  him." 

"Tell  me,"  answered  Sir  Scudamore,  "who  it 
is  that  wronged  you." 

"His  name,"  said  the  Savage  Knight,  "is  un- 
known, yet  he  himself  is  known  to  many,  especially 
by  the  ebony  spear  which  he  carries.  It  was  but  the 
other  day  that  with  this  spear  he  overthrew  all  that 
met  him  in  the  tourney,  and  reft  from  me  the  honour 
of  the  day;  not  only  so,  for  of  these  things  a  knight 
may  not  complain,  but  he  took  from  me  the  fairest 
lady  that  ever  was,  and  withholds  her  still." 


i84  OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL 

Then  Sir  Scudamore  knew  that  he  spoke  of 
Britomart,  who,  as  he  thought,  had  taken  from  him 
his  love.  All  his  heart  was  full  of  rage,  and  he 
cried  out:  ^'Now,  by  my  head,  this  is  not  the  first 
time  of  this  knight's  playing  an  unknightly  part, 
for  I  know  him  by  this  same  spear  which  he  bears. 
From  me  also  did  he  carry  away  my  love.  If  you 
purpose  to  take  vengeance  on  him,  I  will  give  you 
all  the  help  that  I  can."  So  these  two  agreed  to 
join  together  in  wreaking  their  wrath  on  the  KAight 
of  the  Ebony  Spear,  that  is  to  say,  on  Britomart. 

While  they  were  communing  together  on  this 
matter,  they  saw  in  the  distance  a  knight  riding 
slowly  towards  them,  somewhat  strangely  attired, 
and  bearing  strange  arms,  whom  approaching  they 
perceived  to  be  the  very  one  of  whom  they  were 
speaking. 

Then  said  Sir  Scudamore:  "I  beseech  you,  Sir 
Savage  Knight,  that  as  I  was  first  wronged,  so  I 
may  first  take  vengeance.  And  if  I  fail,  then  the 
lot  comes  to  you." 

To  this  the  other  gave  his  assent.  Thereupon 
Sir  Scudamore  charged  at  her  with  all  his  might 
and  at  his  horse's  top  speed,  which  she  perceiving, 
made  herself  ready,  and  gave  him  so  rough  a 
welcome  that  she  smote  to  the  ground  both  horse 
and  man;  and  this  so  strongly,  that  neither  had  any 
mind  to  rise '  therefrom.  This  Sir  Artegall  per- 
ceiving, felt  in  himself  a  yet  greater  anger  than 
before,  and  laying  his  lance  in  rest,  charged  also 
with  all  his  strength.     But  he  also  was  laid   upon 


Sib  Scudamore  overthrown  bt  Britomart. 


OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL  185 

the  ground,  for  there  was  nothing  that  could  with- 
stand the  enchanted  spear.  Nevertheless  he  fared 
better  than  his  fellow,  in  that  he  rose  lightly  from 
the  ground,  and  drawing  his  sword,  leapt  fiercely  at 
his  adversary.  So  sore  were  his  strokes,  that  though 
she  was  on  horseback,  she  was  constrained  to  give 
place  before  him.  As  they  turned  this  way  and 
that,  it  chanced  that  a  blow  which  Sir  Artegall 
aimed  at  the  Princess,  glancing  down  the  corslet 
which  she  wore,  lighted  on  the  back  of  her  horse, 
wounding  him  so  sorely  upon  the  back,  in  the  rear 
of  the  saddle,  that  she  was  compelled  to  alight. 
Not  a  whit  was  she  dismayed  at  this  mischance, 
and  casting  down  her  enchanted  spear,  betook  her- 
self to  use  sword  and  shield.  And  now  the  fortune 
of  the  fight  changed  somewhat,  for  he  was  not  a 
little  spent  by  long  fighting  on  foot,  and  she,  having 
been  mounted  hitherto,  had  the  advantage.  Hence 
it  followed  that  she  drove  him  backwards,  and  even, 
so  heavy  were  her  blows,  wounded  him  through  his 
coat  of  mail.  And  now  behold !  another  change. 
She  was  over-hasty  in  her  assault,  and  her  breath 
began  to  fail;  and  he  on  the  other  hand  reserved 
his  strength,  and  dealt  his  blows  as  thick  as  the 
hailstones  fall  upon  a  roof  —  unhappy  man,  who 
came  so  near  to  slaying  the  fairest  creature  in  all 
the  world !  Still  was  the  battle  waged  between 
these  two,  but  ever  Sir  Artegall  grew  the  stronger 
and  Britomart  the  weaker.  At  last  he  dealt  a  stroke 
that,  had  it  been  aimed  aright,  had  surely  gone  near 
to  slay  her;    but,  by  good  chance,  it  did  but  shear 


1 86  OF  BRITOMART  AND   ART  EG  ALL 

away  the  visor  of  her  helmet,  so  that  her  face  could 
plainly  be  seen,  somewhat  reddened  indeed  by  long 
toil,  and  with  the  sweat  standing  on  it  in  great 
drops,  but  yet  fair  beyond  all  comparison.  And  at 
the  same  time  her  hair,  its  band  being  broken,  fell 
down  as  it  were  a  river  of  gold  flowing  about  her. 
Already  had  the  knight  lifted  his  hand  to  strike 
again;  but  when  he  saw  the  fair  face  and  golden 
hair  his  arm  was,  as  it  were,  benumbed,  his  sword 
dropped  from  his  hand,  and  he  himself  fell  upon 
his   knees. 

^^ Surely,"  he  said  to  himself,  "this  is  some  god- 
dess that  I  see  before  me."  She  stood,  indeed,  in 
great  wrath,  for  she  had  been  in  sore  straits,  and 
anger  ever  follows  close  on  fear,  and  made  as  if  she 
would  strike  him,  but  he  could  do  nothing  but  ask 
for  pardon.  Nor  was  Sir  Scudamore  less  amazed, 
for  he  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  his  swoon, 
when  he  saw  the  sight. 

And  now  Glauce,  glad  at  heart  to  see  again  the 
mistress  whom  she  had  missed  so  long,  drew  near, 
and  made  her  a  reverence,  saying:  "Truly  I  rejoice 
to  see  you  safe  after  so  many  toils  and  dangers. 
And  now,  dear  daughter,  as  you  love  me,  grant 
these  knights  a  truce." 

"So  be  it,"  Britomart  made  answer.  There- 
upon they  lifted  up  their  visors,  so  that  their  faces 
could  be  seen.  And  when  Britomart  looked  on  the 
face  of  Artegall,  behold  it  was  the  very  countenance 
of  the  knight  whom  she  had  seen  long  since  in 
the  magic  mirror!    And  as  she  saw  it  her  haughty 


OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL  187 

spirit  abated.  She  could  never  again  lift  hand 
against  him;  nay,  when  she  thought  to  use  her 
tongue,  and  reproach  him  with  angry  words,  even 
her  tongue  failed  her. 

And  now  Sir  Scudamore,  greatly  rejoiced  to 
know  that  all  his  fears  and  suspicions  were  false, 
drew  near  and  said:  "Surely  it  makes  me  glad. 
Sir  Artegall,  to  see  you  who  were  wont  to  despise 
all  dames,  bow  yourself  before  one  in  so  lowly  a 
fashion."  And  when  Britomart  heard  the  name  of 
Artegall,  her  heart  leaped  within  her  breast,  nor  for 
all  her  feigning  could  she  hide  the  gladness  which 
she  felt.  Then  said  Glauce  again:  "Gentle  knights, 
be  thankful  for  the  happy  chance  which  has  brought 
so  strange  an  ending  to  your  fears  and  troubles. 
Here  is  no  thief  that  would  take  away  from  you  the 
ladies  whom  you  love.  And  you,  Sir  Artegall,  who 
call  yourself  the  Savage  Knight,  count  it  no  shame 
that  a  maid  has  so  bravely  held  her  own  against 
you,  and  strive  no  longer  against  love,  which  is  the 
very  crown  of  knighthood.  And  you,  fair  lady, 
turn  away  your  wrath;  if  there  is  fire  in  your  heart, 
let  it  be  the  fire  of  love."  Britomart  blushed  deep  to 
hear  these  words,  and  Sir  Artegall  was  glad  at  heart. 

And  now  Sir  Scudamore,  who  was  divided 
between  hope  and  fear  concerning  his  Amoret, 
spoke,  saying:  "Pardon  me  if  I  ask  you  for  tidings 
of  my  Amoret.  I  know  that  you  delivered  her 
at  no  small  peril  from  the  Enchanter's  prison. 
Where  is  she?  for  I  would  seek  her,  as  is,  indeed, 
my  bounden  duty," 


i88  OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL 

Britomart  answered:  *'Sir  Knight,  it  grieves 
me  much  that  I  cannot  tell  you  what  you  seek 
to  know.  After  I  had  delivered  her  from  the 
Enchanter,  as  you  know,  I  kept  her  safe.  And 
truly  there  never  was  companion  more  dear  to 
me  than  she.  But  one  day,  as  we  travelled,  we 
lighted  from  our  steeds  by  the  wayside,  to  rest 
awhile.  Then  I  laid  myself  down  to  sleep ;  but 
when  I  woke  from  my  sleep,  she  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  I  called  her;  I  sought  her  far  and 
near;  but  nowhere  could  I  find  her,  or  hear 
tidings   of   her." 

When  Sir  Scud  amor  e  heard  these  words,  he 
was  greatly  troubled,  and  stood  like  to  a  man 
who  has  received  a  mortal  blow.  But  Glauc6 
said:  "Be  not  discouraged,  fair  sir;  hope  still  for 
the  best;  why  should  you  trouble  yourself  in 
vain?'' 

Little  comfort  did  he  take  of  these  words,  but 
when  Britomart  said,  "Truly  you  have  great  cause 
for  trouble;  yet  take  comfort,  by  the  light  of  day 
I  swear  that  I  will  never  leave  you  till  I  find 
and  give  her  back  to  you,"  then  was  he  not  a 
little  comforted,  for  he  had  a  great  trust  that  what 
Britomart  promised  she  would  surely  perform. 

Then  they  all  journeyed  together  to  a  castle 
that  was  near,  Sir  Artegall  being  their  guide. 
There  they  rested  till  their  wounds  were  healed 
and  their  strength  repaired.  Meanwhile  Sir 
Artegall  paid  court  to  Britomart,  who,  after  much 
persuasion,    though,    indeed,    she    was    not    unwill- 


OF  BRITOMART  AND   ARTEGALL  189 

ing  in  her  heart,  consented  to  take  him  for  her 
husband.  Nevertheless  their  marriage  could  not 
be  yet,  because  Sir  Artegall  was  bound  on  a 
great  adventure  which  he  must  needs  carry 
through.  Nor  could  she  refuse  to  allow  him  to 
depart,  seeing  that  his  honour  was  bound  in  the 
matter.  Only  it  was  agreed  that  when  three 
months  had  waxed  and  waned,  then  he  should 
return.  So  the  knight  departed,  Britomart  going 
with  him  for  a  part  of  his  journey.  Full  loath 
was  she  to  leave  him,  finding  ever  new  occa- 
sions for  delay.  And  when  these  were  all  spent, 
then  with  a  heavy  heart  did  she  return  to  the 
castle,  for  she  also  had  business  in  hand,  even 
to  seek  together  with  Sir  Scudamore  for  the  lost 
Amoret. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

OF  THE  FORTUNES   OF  AMORET 

IT  shall  now  be  told  how  the  fair  Amoret  was 
lost.  She  and  Britomart,  riding  away  from 
the  place  where  Sir  Satyrane  had  held  his  tourna- 
ment, chanced  in  their  journey  upon  a  wood. 
There  it  seemed  good  to  them  to  rest  awhile. 
Britomart,  being  not  a  little  wearied  with  fighting 
in  the  hsts,  fell  fast  asleep,  but  Amoret  walked 
in  the  wood.  As  she  walked  a  giant  rushed  out 
of  a  thicket  hard  by  and  seized  her;  she  cried 
aloud;  but  Britomart  heard  her  not,  so  deep  was 
she  in  slumber.  A  horrible  monster  to  behold 
he  was,  feeding  on  the  raw  flesh  of  men  and 
beasts,  with  a  face  red  as  blood,  and  two  great 
ears,  like  to  the  ears  of  an  elephant.  He  was 
covered  with  shaggy  hair,  and  in  his  hand  a 
young  oak  with  sharp  snags  that  had  been 
hardened  in  the  fire,  till  they  were  as  steel.  He 
carried  her  through  the  wood  to  his  cave,  and  threw 
her  in.  For  a  while  she  lay  without  sense;  then, 
being  somewhat  recovered,  she  heard  someone 
sighing  and  sobbing,  and  inquired  who  it  was 
that  spoke. 
Then   that    other    said:    ^* Listen,    unhappy   one, 

190 


OF  THE  FORTUNES  OF  AMORET  191 

and  I  will  tell  you  my  story,  from  which  you  may 
learn  in  what  plight  you  yourself  are.  Twenty 
days  have  I  dwelt  in  this  dreadful  place;  and  in 
these  twenty  days  have  I  seen  seven  women  slain 
and  devoured.  And  now  he  has  for  store  three  only, 
yourself  and  me  and  an  old  woman  yonder ;  and 
of  these  three  he  will  surely  devour  one  to-morrow. 
And  if  you  ask  my  history  it  is  this.  I  am  daughter 
to  a  lord  of  high  degree,  and  it  happened  to  me 
to  love  a  squire  of  low  degree.  Of  low  degree 
he  was,  but  so  comely  as  to  be  a  fit  mate  for  the 
proudest  lady  in  the  land.  Nevertheless,  my  father, 
loving  me  well  after  his  fashion,  and  seeking  my 
advancement,  would  have  none  of  him.  But  I, 
being  steadfast  in  my  mind,  made  a  resolve  to 
flee  far  from  my  home,  and  take  with  my  lover 
such  a  lot  as  fortune  might  bring.  On  a  certain 
day,  therefore,  it  was  appointed  that  I  should  meet 
him  at  a  certain  place.  To  which  place  I  came, 
but  he,  alas!  was  not  there.  Then  this  monster 
found  me,  and  carried  me  away  as  an  eagle  carries 
off  a  dove." 

After  they  had  talked  awhile,  lo!  the  monster 
himself  came  back  to  his  cave.  And  Amoret,  as 
soon  as  she  saw  him,  leapt  from  her  place,  which 
chanced  to  be  near  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and 
fled  away  on  her  feet  as  fast  as  she  could;  and 
the  monster,  perceiving  her  flight,  pursued  her. 
Fleet  of  foot  was  she,  but  it  had  fared  ill  with 
her  but  for  a  happy  chance  which  brought  her 
help  beyond  all  hope,  as  shall  now  be  told. 


192  OF   THE   FORTUNES  OF  AMORET 

There  dwelt  in  those  parts  a  famous  huntress, 
Belphoebe  by  name;  this  Belphoebe  was  own  sister 
to  Amoret.  That  day  she  was  following  the  chase, 
pursuing  leopards  and  bears,  of  which  beasts  there 
was  a  great  multitude  in  those  woods.  With  her 
were  her  companions,  the  forest  nymphs,  and  also 
a  gentle  squire,  who  was  her  lover.  Now  the  squire 
chanced  to  be  separated  from  the  rest  of  his  com- 
pany, and  so  came  to  the  very  place  where  the 
monster  was  in  chase  of  Amoret.  By  this  time 
he  had  overtaken  her  and  caught  her  up  in  his 
arms.  And  when  the  squire  perceived  it,  and 
set  upon  him,  seeking  to  deliver  her  out  of  his 
hands,  the  villain  used  this  crafty  device.  When 
the  squire  would  have  thrust  at  him  with  the 
hunting-spear  which  he  carried,  then  the  monster 
would  shield  himself  with  the  body  of  Amoret. 
And  when  the  squire  held  back  his  blow,  or  when 
the  blow  chanced  to  fall  ever  so  lightly  on  the 
dame,  then  the  monster  laughed  aloud.  So  they  two 
contended  awhile;  but  at  the  last  the  squire  dealt  his 
adversary  a  shrewd  blow  and  wounded  him  sorely. 
But  this  did  not  abate  his  rage,  for,  throwing 
Amoret  on  the  ground,  he  set  upon  the  squire 
so  fiercely  with  his  club,  that  the  man  had  much 
ado  to  save  himself  from  being  beaten  down.  Nor 
can  it  be  known  what  had  been  the  issue,  for  now 
Belphoebe,  hearing  the  sound  of  the  strokes  through 
the  wood,  and  guided  by  her  ear,  drew  near,  holding 
her  bow  in  her  hand,  with  an  arrow  upon  the  string, 
ready    to    be    despatched.    When   the   monster   saw 


OF  THE  FORTUNES  OF  AMORET  193 

her,  he,  knowing  how  deadly  was  her  aim,  turned 
and  fled.  Nor  did  she  fail  to  pursue;  swift  of 
foot  was  she,  and  ere  he  could  reach  his  cave, 
she  smote  him  on  the  back  of  the  neck  with  an 
arrow.  He  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  great  crash, 
and  when  she  came  up,  thinking  to  put  an  end 
to  him,  lo !  he  was  already  dead.  Thereupon 
she  went  into  the  cave,  and  while  she  wondered 
that  a  place  could  be  so  foul,  she  heard  a  whisper- 
ing and  a  low  sort  of  groaning.  Then  she  said 
to  herself:  "Are  these  spirits  that  suffer  in  this 
place  of  dread  and  darkness?"  and  afterwards 
aloud,  "If  there  be  any  here,  let  them  come  forth, 
if  only  they  be  free  to  move."  Thereupon  ^Emilia 
stood  up  from  the  place  where  she  had  been 
lying,  and  told  her  story.  "Come  forth,"  said 
Belphoebe,  when  she  heard  the  tale;  "haply,  I 
may  give  you  help."  So  she  led  her  to  the  place 
where  she  had  left  the  squire  and  the  fair  Amoret. 
And  now  there  befell  an  evil  chance  which  brought 
about  no  small  trouble. 

Amoret  was  in  a  piteous  plight,  as  may  easily 
be  believed.  For  first  she  had  been  affrighted 
almost  to  death  by  the  monster,  arid  then  she 
had  been  sorely  bruised  when  he  cast  her  so 
roughly  to  the  ground.  So  she  lay  as  one  with- 
out life,  and  the  gentle  squire  was  full  of  com- 
passion when  he  saw  her  hurts,  especially  the 
wound  which  he  himself  had  made  with  his  hunt- 
ing-spear, when  the  monster  held  her  before  him 
as    a    shield.    And    now    Belphoebe,    coming    back 


194  OF   THE  FORTUNES  OF  AMORET 

from  the  cave,  saw  him  looking  at  her,  as  it 
might  be,  in  lover's  fashion,  and  a  great  .  pang 
of  jealousy  and  anger  moved  in  her  heart.  At 
first  she  thought  to  slay  them  both  with  the 
arrow  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  But  keep- 
ing herself  back  from  this,  she  cried:  ^^Is  this, 
then,  the  faith  you  keep?"  And,  with  the  word, 
she  turned  her  face  and  fled  into  the  wood.  The 
squire,  knowing  that  he  was  wrongly  blamed, 
made  haste  to  follow  her,  yet,  overtaking  her, 
he  did  not  dare  to  come  near;  and  when  he 
would  have  told  her  the  truth,  she  would  not 
listen,  but  made  as  if  she  would  slay  him  with 
an  arrow.  So,  after  having  long  followed  her 
in  vain,  he  turned  back,  and  finding  a  solitary 
place  in  the  depth  of  a  forest,  made  there  a 
cabin  for  himself,  where  he  dwelt  in  most  un- 
happy sort.  His  weapons  of  war  he  broke,  and 
vowed  never  to  use  them  again.  Also  he  swore 
a  great  oath  that  he  would  never  more  speak  to 
woman;  his  garments,  which  were  of  the  seem- 
liest fashion,  he  cut  into  the  strangest  shape,  and 
his  hair  he  suffered  to  grow  as  it  would  and  fall 
untrimmed  about  his  shoulders.  So  he  lived  for 
many  days. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  a  turtle  dove  which  also 
had  lost  its  mate  came  near,  and,  as  if  it  could  under- 
stand what  was  in  his  heart,  behaved  in  a  most 
friendly  and  familiar  fashion.  And  this  it  did  again 
and  again.  The  bird  would  sit  upon  the  branch 
of  a  tree  hard  by,  and  sing  to  him;  and  he,  by  way 


OF   THE  FORTUNES  OF  AMORET  195 

of  guerdon  for  its  song,  would  share  with  him  such 
slender  meals  as  he  had.  On  a  certain  day  he 
brought  out  from  a  certain  place  certain  gifts  which 
Belphoebe  had  bestowed  upon  him  in  the  days 
when  the  affection  between  them  was  yet  unbroken. 
Among  these  was  a  ruby  of  the  finest  water,  with  a 
gold  setting  in  the  shape  of  a  heart  and  a  chain 
of  gold  fastened  to  the  setting.  This  jewel  he 
took,  and  binding  it  with  a  riband  of  his  lady's 
colour,  tied  it  round  the  neck  of  the  dove,  and 
solaced  his  mind  by  gazing  on  it.  But  no  sooner 
had  the  bird  felt  the  jewel  tied  about  his  neck  than 
he  spread  out  his  wings  and  flew  away.  Not  a 
little  troubled  was  he  at  this  matter,  for  he  had  lost, 
not  the  companionship  of  the  bird  only,  but  the 
jewel  also.  So  was  his  trouble  not  a  little  increased. 
But  the  bird  flew  in  a  straight  line  to  the  abode  of 
Belphoebe,  and  found  her  sitting  in  an  arbour,  taking 
rest  from  the  toils  of  the  chase.  For  she  still  fol- 
lowed in  the  ways  of  a  huntress,  though,  in  truth, 
she  was  not  a  Httle  troubled  that  she  had  lost  her 
lover.  So  soon  as  she  saw  the  bird,  she  spied  the 
jewel  about  his  neck,  and  knew  it  for  her  own  gift, 
and  the  riband  also  wherewith  it  was  bound.  There- 
upon she  rose  from  her  place,  and  would  have  caught 
it  in  her  hand,  but  the  bird  flew  away.  For  a  short 
space  it  flew,  and  then  tarried  for  a  space,  and  then 
when  Belphoebe  came  near,  flew  away  once  more. 
So  it  drew  the  lady  on  from  place  to  place,  ever 
seeming  ready  to  be  caught,  yet  ever  again  escap- 
ing, till  it  brought  her  to  the  place  where  the  squire 


196  OF  THE  FORTUNES  OF  AMORET 

dwelt  in  his  unhappiness.  There  jt  perched  on  his 
hand,  and  sang  a  song,  sweet  and  sad,  as  if  to  suit 
his  sorrowful  estate.  So  spent  was  he  with  grief 
and  trouble  that  the  lady  knew  him  not,  but  only 
saw  that  he  was  in  great  misery,  yet  judged  that  he 
had  fallen  into  it  from  better  things.  Thereupon 
she  said:  "Unhappy  man,  what  has  brought  you 
into  this  evil  plight?  If  it  is  Heaven's  will,  then  we 
must  submit;  but  if  it  is  of  man's  wrongdoing,  then 
may  the  wrong  be  set  right.  But  if  it  is  of  your 
own  will,  know  that  no  man  should  so  neglect  the 
gifts  of  God,  who  wills  that  all  should  be  happy." 

"O  lady,"  answered  the  squire,  "surely  it  is 
no  one  but  yourself  that  has  brought  me  into  this 
trouble."    And  he  showed  her  the  whole  truth. 

So  peace  was  made  again  between  the  two. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

OF   SIR  ARTEGALL   AND   THE  KNIGHT   SANGLIER 

IT  is  now  time  that  the  story  of  Sir  Artegall  should 
be  told;  how  he  was  bred  up  in  the  ways  of 
justice.  Now  this  story,  as  it  was  commonly  re- 
ported, was  this:  Astraea,  who  was  the  Goddess  of 
Justice,  found  him  when  he  was  a  child  playing  with 
other  children  of  a  Hke  age;  she,  hking  him  well, 
and  finding  him  innocent  and  without  guile,  took  him 
away  with  her  to  a  soHtary  place  where  she  dwelt 
-  for  as  yet  she  hved  upon  the  earth  —  and  there 
instructed  and  trained  him  to  be  such  an  one  as 
she  desired.  She  taught  him  to  weigh  right  and 
wrong  in  equal  scales,  and  to  measure  out  equity 
according  to  the  rule  of  conscience.  And  because 
there  were  no  men  in  the  place,  she  taught  him  to 
seek  experience  of  the  right  way  among  the  beasts 
oi  the  forest;  for  these  also  oppress  their  own  kind. 
A.lso  she  caused  him  to  be  instructed  in  the  use  of 
irms,  in  which  use  he  became  in  due  time  most 
expert,  so  that  he  came  to  be  held  in  high  repute, 
IS  being  one  who  could  not  only  distinguish  most 
;ruly  between  right  and  wrong,  but  could  also  .main- 
ain  the  same  by  force  of  arms.  Also  she  gave  him 
L  sword  of  great  repute   which  Jupiter  himself  had 

197 


198      SIR   ARTEGALL  AND   KNIGHT  SANGLIER 

used  in  his  war  against  the  Titans;  Chrysaor  was 
its  name,  which,  being  interpreted,  is  ^' Sword  of 
Gold."  Of  finest  temper  was  it,  and  beautiful  to 
behold.  Also  she  gave  her  servant  to  attend  upon 
him  —  Talus  was  his  name.  This  same  Talus 
wielded  an  iron  flail  with  which  to  thresh  out 
falsehood  and  separate  the  truth. 

This  Artegall,  being  now  come  to  years  of 
manhood,  betook  himself,  as  was  the  wont  of  all 
worthy  knights  in  those  days,  to  the  Court  of 
Queen  Gloriana.  And  she  gave  him  as  the  task 
which  he  should  accomplish,  the  succouring  of  a 
distressed  lady,  Irene  by  name,  from  whom  a 
tyrant,  whom  men  called  Grantorto,  withheld  the 
heritage  which  was  rightly  hers.  For  she  judged 
that  there  was  no  man  who  could  better  discern  the 
right,  and  having  discerned  it  could  more  effectually 
cause  it  to  prevail. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  he  and  Talus,  who  was 
his  squire,  rode  off  on  their  errand.  On  their 
way  they  saw  as  sorry  a  sight  as  ever  was  seen  by 
mortal  eyes,  a  squire  sitting  upon  the  ground  in 
most  doleful  fashion,  and  hard  by  him,  lying  on  the 
ground,  the  headless  corpse  of  a  lady.  It  was 
indeed  a  piteous  thing  to  see  the  gay  apparel  of 
the  dead,  most  cruelly  drenched  in  blood. 

"Now  tell  me,"  cried  Sir  Artegall,  "by  what 
foul   mischance   this   dreadful  thing  has  happened." 

"Oh,  sir,"  answered  the  squire,  "as  I  sat  here 
with  the  lady  whom  I  love,  there  came  riding  by  a 
knight   who   had   in    his    company   this    fair    dame 


SIR  ARTEGALL  AND   KNIGHT  SANGLIER      199 

whom  you  see  lying  here.  And  whether  he  was 
taken  with  the  sight  of  my  love,  or  was  weary  of 
his  own,  I  know  not ;  but  this  he  said :  ^  Ho !  fellow, 
let  us  make  exchange.'  And  when  I  denied  his 
request,  and  the  two  ladies  also  cried  out  upon  him, 
then  he  threw  down  the  dame  his  companion  on  the 
ground,  and  lawlessly  taking  away  from  me  my 
own,  set  her  upon  his  horse.  And  when  his  lady 
saw  what  he  had  done,  and  how  he  was  riding 
away,  she  followed  him  as  fast  as  she  could,  and 
laying  hold  of  his  arm,  cried  out:  *  Leave  me  not 
in  this  fashion;  slay  me  rather!'  And  he  in  a  fury 
drew  his  sword,  and  with  a  single  stroke  shore  off 
her  head,  even  in  the  place  where  now  she  lies. 
And  now  he  has  gone,  taking  my  love  with  him." 

*^Tell  me,"  said  Sir  Artegall,  ^'by  which  way  he 
went.  Tell  me  also  by  what  signs  I  may  know 
him." 

"But,  fair  sir,"  the  squire  made  answer,  '*he 
has  gone  so  long  that  you  can  scarce  hope  to  over- 
take him.  Yet,  if  you  would  know  the  way,  he 
rode  across  the  plain."  And  he  pointed  with  his 
hand  to  the  course  which  the  knight  had  followed. 
"As  for  the  marks,  know  that  he  carriec|  on  his 
shield  a  broken  sword  on  a  field  of  blood;  and, 
indeed,  it  seemed   to  be  a  fitting  emblem." 

"Follow  him,"  said  Sir  Artegall  to  his  page 
Talus.  And  the  page  followed  him  swift  as  a 
swallow  flies  over  a  field.  Nor  was  it  long  before 
he  overtook  the  knight  —  Sir  Sanglier  he  was  called 
—  and  bade  him  come  back  with  him,  and   answer 


200     SIR   ARTEGALL   AND   KNIGHT  SANGLIER 

for  his  deed.  No  little  scorn  did  the  knight  feel  to 
be  so  commanded,  and,  setting  down  the  lady  whom 
he  carried  on  his  steed,  rode  at  the  page  Talus  with 
all  his  force.  Full  on  the  body  he  struck  him,  but 
moved  him  no  more  than  a  rock  is  moved  by  some 
stone  that  is  thrown  at  it.  On  the  other  hand. 
Talus  dealt  him  such  a  blow  that  he  laid  him  pros- 
trate on  the  ground.  Ere  he  could  recover  him- 
self. Talus  had  seized  him  in  an  iron  grip,  and 
forced  him  to  follow  him,  the  lady  also,  though  she 
would  have  fled  in  her  fear,  following.  So  they 
came  to  Sir  Artegall. 

"What  is  this  that  you  have  done?"  said  Sir 
Artegall. 

"Nay,"  said  the  knight,  "I  did  it  not:  I  am 
guiltless  of  the  blood  of  this  dame,  and  this  I  will 
prove  on  the  body  of  this  false  squire,  if  he  will 
meet  me  hand  to  hand." 

Now  the  squire  was  not  of  such  prowess  as  to 
meet  so  doughty  a  knight.  Then  said  Sir  Artegall: 
"This  is  a  doubtful  cause,  which  it  were  not  well  to 
try  by  arbitrament  of  battle.  Will  you  therefore 
commit  the  matter  to  me,  and  abide  by  my  judg- 
ment and  sentence?" 

To  this  they  both  consented.  Then  said  Sir 
Artegall:  "Since  each  of  you  denies  that  this  lady 
came  by  her  death  through  his  deed,  and  each 
claims  the  living  lady  as  his  own,  my  judgment  is 
that  both  the  living  and  the  dead  shall  be  equally 
divided,  and  each  shall  have  his  part  both  of  one 
and  of  the  other.     Also   I  decree   that   if  either  of 


SIR  ARTEGALL  AND   KNIGHT  SANGLIER      201 

you  two  shall  reject  this  my  sentence,  he  shall 
carry  this  head  as  a  penance  for  twelve  months, 
by  way  of  witness  that  he  brought  about  her 
death." 

Sir  Sanglier  gladly  accepted  the  doom,  but  the 
squire  was  ill-content,  for  he  really  loved  the  dame 
who  had  been  reft  from  him.  ^^Nay,"  said  he,  ''I 
would  rather  by  far  that  she  should  Hve,  though  I 
lose  her." 

*''Tis  well  said,  squire!"  cried  Sir  Artegall, 
"and  now  I  perceive  that  you  are  indeed  guiltless  in 
this  matter.  As  for  you.  Sir  Knight,  who  care  so 
little  for  the  Hving  or  the  dead,  take  this  head  and 
carry  it  for  a  twelve  months'  space,  to  be  a  witness 
of  your  shame  and  guilt."  Sir  Sanglier  was  ill 
content  with  this  sentence,  and  would  have  refused 
to  abide  by  it.  Only,  when  he  saw  Talus  approach- 
ing with  intent  to  compel  him,  he  made  his  sub- 
mission, for  he  knew  by  experience  how  great  was 
his  strength. 

Then  said  the  squire:  "Oh,  sir,  you  have  done 
me  such  service  as  I  can  never  repay.  Let  me 
therefore  attend  you  as  your  squire,  and  that  with- 
out fee  or  favour." 

"Not  so,"  Sir  Artegall  made  answer,  "I  am 
well  content  to  be  as  I  am.  Do  you  follow  your 
own  affairs.  As  for  me,  Talus  here  will  be  suflScient 
for  my  needs." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

OF  OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL 

AS  Sir  Artegall,  with  Talus  following,  rode  on,  he 
met  a  dwarf  who  was  travelling  with  all  the 
speed  that  he  could  use.  "Stay  awhile,"  he  said, 
"for  I  have  somewhat  to  ask  of  you."  And  the 
dwarf,  though  somewhat  loath,  could  not  but  yield. 
Now  the  dwarf's  name  was  Dony,  and  he  served  the 
fair  T^lorimell.  Not  a  little  of  his  discourse,  there- 
fore, concerned  the  said  Florimell.  He  told  how 
Marinell  was  recovered  of  the  grievous  wound 
which  Britomart  had  given  him,  and  how  he  was 
to  wed  the  fair  Florimell. 

"Say  you  so?"  cried  Artegall.  "Tell  me, 
therefore,  when  the  marriage  shall  be,  for  I  would 
fain  be  present  at  the  celebration." 

"In  three  days'  time,  as  I  am  informed," 
answered  the  dwarf,  "and  I  too  should  be  there, 
and  the  place  is  the  castle  by  the  seashore;  only 
there  is  a  hindrance  in  the  way,  for  a  little  farther 
on  from  this  place,  a  cruel  Saracen  keeps  the  bridge 
by  which  one  must  needs  pass.  Much  harm  has  he 
done  already  to  travellers,  and  men  are  fain  to  shun 
the  way  that  lies  thereby." 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  villain,"  said  Sir 
Artegall.     Then   Dony  set  forth  the  whole    matter. 


OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL     203 

"He  is  a  man  of  great  strength,  and  expert  in 
battle.  Moreover,  he  is  not  a  little  helped  by  the 
charms  with  which  the  wicked  witch,  his  daughter, 
supports  him.  Thus  he  has  gathered  together 
much  wealth,  store  of  gold,  and  lordships  and 
farms.  This  wealth  he  daily  increases,  greatly  by 
means  of  this  same  bridge  which  he  holds  by  force 
of  arms.  No  one  will  he  suffer  to  go  over  unless 
he  first  pays  a  toll,  be  he  rich  or  poor.  If  the 
traveller  be  poor,  then  a  squire  whom  he  sets  over 
this  business  extorts  from  him  this  tribute.  As  for 
the  richer  sort,  these  he  deals  with  himself.  Men 
call  him  Pollen  te,  which,  being  interpreted,  is 
'Powerful,^  and  the  name  is  fitting,  for  much  power 
he  has.  And  besides  the  power  he  has  not  a  little 
cunning,  for  he  is  wont  to  fight  on  this  same  bridge. 
Exceeding  long  is  it  and  narrow,  and  full  of  pitfalls 
which  he  knows,  but  a  stranger  knows  not.  And 
often  it  happens  that  the  stranger  falls  through  one 
of  these  said  pitfalls  into  the  river  beneath.  And 
while  he  is  confused  with  his  fall,  PoUente  leaps 
into  the  river  and  takes  him  at  a  disadvantage, 
and  either  slays  him  outright  or  causes  him  to 
drown.  Then  he  takes  the  spoils  of  them  who 
perish  in  this  fashion,  and  brings  them  to  his 
daughter,  who  dwells  hard  by.  Thus  she  has 
gathered  together  great  store  of  wealth,  so  that  she 
exceeds  even  kings.  Her  they  call  Munera.  Very 
fair  is  she,  and  gorgeously  attired;  many  lords  have 
sought  to  have  her  for  a  wife,  but  in  her  pride  she 
thinks  scorn  of  them  all." 


204     OTHER   ADVENTURES  OF  SIR   ARTEGALL 

This  is  the  story  which  Dony  the  dwarf  told  to 
Sir  Artegall.  When  the  knight  heard  it,  he  cried, 
"Now,  by  my  Hfe,  I  will  go  none  other  way  but 
this,  God  helping  me." 

So  he  went  on  with  Talus,  and  the  dwarf  followed. 
When  they  came  to  the  bridge,  there  came  to  them  an 
evil-looking  villain,  who  said,  "Give  me  the  passage- 
money,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  place!" 

"Here,"  answered  Sir  Artegall,  "is  my  passage- 
money,"  and  therewith  dealt  him  such  a  blow  that 
he  fell  dead  upon  the  ground.  When  the  Saracen 
knight  saw  this,  he  was  very  wrath,  and  charged 
at  Sir  Artegall  full  tilt;  nor  did  Sir  Artegall  lag 
behind.  They  met  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge, 
where  there  was  a  trap  cunningly  devised.  The 
Saracen  looked  that  his  adversary  should  fall  into 
it  unawares  and  be  sorely  bruised  and  wounded ; 
but  Sir  Artegall,  having  been  forewarned  by  the 
dwarf,  leapt  into  the  river,  clear  of  all  that  might 
do  damage  to  horse  or  man.  The  Saracen  leapt  in 
like  fashion,  and  the  two  met  in  the  water,  not  one 
whit  less  hotly  than  had  they  been  on  the  dry  land. 
And  here  the  pagan  had  no  small  advantage,  for  he 
was  accustomed  to  fight  in  this  fashion,  and  his 
horse  also  could  swim  like  a  fish.  Sir  Artegall, 
perceiving  that  the  odds  were  against  him,  saw 
that  he  must  close  with  his  adversary  without  delay. 
Long  they  wrestled  together,  and  Sir  Artegall 
never  loosened  his  grip  one  whit,  and  at  last  forced 
him  from  his  saddle,  so  that  he  no  longer  had  the 
advantage  of  the  swimming  of  his  horse.    And  yet 


•    ,  »  »  •   J 


Sib  Artegall  and  the  Saracen. 


OTHER   ADVENTURES   OF  SIR   ARTEGALL     205 

the  issue  of  the  fight  was  doubtful  awhile,  for  the 
Saracen  was  both  brave  and  expert  in  arms. 
Nevertheless  Sir  Artegall  had  the  better  breath, 
as  one  that  followed  temperance  in  all  things,  and 
so  prevailed  until  the  Saracen  was  compelled  to 
turn  from  the  river  to  the  land,  hoping  so  to  escape. 
Yet  even  as  he  lifted  his  head  from  the  stream  to 
the  brink,  the  knight  dealt  him  so  heavy  a  blow 
that  it  clean  shore  the  head  from  the  neck.  And 
this  being  done,  then  he  went  his  way  to  the  castle 
where  the  pagan's  daughter  dwelt. 

Here  he  was  denied  entrance,  being  received 
with  so  great  a  shower  of  stones  that  he  was  forced 
to  retreat.  Then  he  sent  Talus,  bidding  him  com- 
pel an  entrance.  And  this  he  did  without  damage 
to  himself,  and  with  his  iron  flail  he  battered  the 
door  so  fiercely  that  the  whole  place  shook  from 
the  foundation  to  the  roof.  All  who  were  within 
were  greatly  dismayed,  and  the  Lady  Munera 
herself  came  out,  and  stood  upon  the  castle  wall. 
When  she  saw  in  what  peril  she  was,  she  used  all 
the  devices  which  she  could  imagine  to  deliver 
herself.  First  she  besought  the  adversary  with 
many  prayers  to  cease  from  his  attack  —  and,  indeed, 
she  was  not  wont  to  beseech  in  vain.  Then  she 
tried  what  enchantments  could  do,  and  of  these  she 
had  a  great  store  at  her  command.  And  when 
she  found  that  prayers  and  enchantments  availed 
nothing,  she  thought  to  corrupt  the  man  with  great 
gifts.  She  caused  sacks  of  gold  and  precious  things 
to   be   brought,    and    poured    from    the   castle   wall, 


2o6     OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL 

thinking  to  herself  that  he  would  surely  cease  from 
his  battering,  and  give  her,  at  the  least,  some  respite 
and  delay. 

But  the  riches  moved  him  no  more  than  the  en- 
treaties and  enchantments.  Still  he  battered  with 
his  iron  flail  till  he  broke  down  the  door  and  made 
a  way  for  his  master  to  enter.  No  one  dared  to 
lift  a  hand  against  them:  all  through  the  castle 
they  moved  at  their  will.  The  Lady  Munera  for 
a  while  they  could  not  find.  At  the  last  Talus, 
than  whom  a  bloodhound  was  not  more  keen  to 
scent  a  runaway,  found  her  hidden  under  a  heap 
of  gold.  Thence  he  drew  her  from  her  lair,  pity- 
ing her  not  at  all.  For  now  even  Sir  Artegall, 
seeing  how  fair  she  was,  had  some  compassion  in 
his  heart,  and  when  she  knelt  before  him  would 
have  given  her  some  remission  of  the  penalty. 
But  there  was  no  such  thought  in  the  heart  of 
Talus.  He  cared  for  naught  but  to  do  justice  to 
the  full.  So  he  took  her  by  the  waist,  she  crying 
loudly  the  while,  and  cast  her  into  the  river.  And 
when  he  had  wrought  this  justice  upon  her,  he 
took  all  the  pelf  that  he  found  in  the  castle,  and 
ground  it  small  to  powder,  and  threw  it  into  the 
water.  This  done,  he  razed  the  castle  to  the 
ground,  destroying  it  utterly,  so  that  no  one  in 
days  to  come  should  think  to  set  it  up  again. 
After  this  Sir  Artegall  reformed  the  evil  customs 
of  the  bridge,  ordering  that  in  time  to  come  it 
should  be  free  for  all  to  pass  over. 

This    good    deed     accomplished,    they    journeyed 


OTHER   ADVENTURES  OF  SIR   ARTEGALL     207 

on  to  the  castle  by  the  sea,  where  the  nuptials  of 
Sir  Marinell  and  the  fair  Florimell  were  to  be 
celebrated  with  great  honour.  There  were  great 
feastings  and  rejoicings,  to  which  an  infinite  con- 
course of  lords  and  ladies  resorted  from  all  quarters; 
no  knight  that  was  held  in  repute  for  valour  and 
deeds  of  arms  was  absent.  When  the  banquet, 
which  was  furnished  with  all  rare  meats  and  drinks 
that  the  heart  of  man  could  desire,  was  finished, 
then  the  company  addressed  themselves  to  feats 
of  arms.  First  came  forth  Sir  Marinell  and  six 
knights  with  him,  declaring  to  hold  the  field  against 
all  comers,  in  right  of  Florimell,  and  to  affirm  that 
she  was  the  fairest  of  all  the  ladies  upon  earth. 
Against  these  there  came  from  all  parts  such  as 
desired  to  try  their  fortune  in  the  lists  —  none  were 
debarred.  Many  feats  of  arms  were  wrought  that 
day;  many  knights  were  unhorsed,  and  some  were 
wounded;  but  none,  so  it  was  judged  by  common 
consent,  bore  themselves  more  bravely  than  did 
Sir  Marinell.  His  name,  therefore,  did  the  heralds 
proclaim  as  the  champion  of  the  day.  And  on  the 
second  day  the  event  was  the  same.  There  was 
much  fighting,  many  suffered  loss  and  overthrow; 
and  in  the  end  the  heralds  proclaimed,  as  they  had 
done  before,  the  victory  of  Sir  Marinell.  But  on 
the  third  day  things  fell  out  otherwise,  for  the 
knight  pursuing  his  adversaries  when  he  had  put 
them  to  flight,  somewhat  rashly,  was  surrounded 
by  them  and  taken  prisoner.  While  they  were 
leading  him  away,   it  so  chanced   that   Sir  Artegall 


2o8     OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL 

came  into  the  tilting-yard,  and  close  behind  him 
followed  Bragadocchio,  who  had  in  his  company  the 
false  Florimell. 

When  Sir  Artegall  understood  what  mishap  had 
befallen  Sir  Marinell,  he  said  to  Bragadocchio:  "I 
would  fain  help  this  brave  knight;  but  I  would  not 
have  anyone  know  who  I  am:  therefore,  I  pray 
thee,  change  shields  with  me."  And  Bragadocchio 
full  willingly  did  so,  thinking  that  he  might  thus 
win  to  himself  renown  without  cost  or  danger.  Sir 
Artegall,  therefore,  taking  Bragadocchio's  shield, 
set  upon  the  knights  who  were  leading  away  Sir 
Marinell.  There  were  a  hundred  in  all.  Of  these 
fifty  assailed  him,  and  the  other  fifty  stayed  behind 
to  guard  the  prisoner.  But  for  all  that  there  were 
so  many  they  could  not  stand  Against  him.  The 
fifty  who  assailed  him  he  speedily  put  to  flight,  and 
the  fifty  who  would  have  kept  the  prisoner  did  not 
hinder  Sir  Artegall  from  setting  him  free.  Then  Sir 
Marinell  being  delivered  and  armed  anew,  for  they 
had  taken  his  arms  from  him,  the  two  joined  their 
forces  and  drove  their  adversaries  out  of  the  field. 
There  was  not  one  among  them  who  could  hold  up 
his  head  or  make  a  stand  against  them.  When  Sir 
Artegall  had  accomplished  this,  then  he  gave  back 
the  shield  to  Bragadocchio,  who  had  stayed  to  see 
the  issue  of  the  day,  keeping  with  him  the  false 
Florimell. 

After  this  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  judges 
rose  up  in  their  place  and  summoned  the  company, 
saying:    "Hear!    All    ye    knights   who   have   borne 


OTHER   ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEC  ALL     209 

arms  to-day,  and  know  to  whom  the  prize  of  valour 
is  awarded."  Then  came  forth  the  fair  Florimell 
from  the  place  where  she  sat,  as  queen  of  the 
tourney,  that  she  might  give  to  each  knight  his 
proper  guerdon,  and  to  him  who  should  be  held 
to  have  best  acquitted  himself,  the  first  prize  of  all. 
Loudly  did  they  call  for  the  stranger  knight  who 
had  wrought  such  prodigies  of  valour  and  strength 
in  delivering  Sir  Marinell.  He  did  not  come  for- 
ward, but  in  his  stead  Bragadocchio  presented  him- 
self, with  the  shield  bearing  the  device  which  all 
men  knew  —  namely,  a  sun  shining  in  a  field  of  gold. 
When  the  company  saw  this,  they,  thinking  that 
this  was  indeed  the  champion,  set  up  a  great  shout, 
and  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  Florimell  rose  up 
and  greeted  him  most  graciously,  thanking  him  for 
his  championship.  But  all  this  praise  turned  the 
vain  fellow's  mind.  ''Not  for  your  sake,  madam," 
said  he,  ''but  for  my  own  dear  lady's  sake  did  I 
this,"  adding  other  words  such  as  could  not  pass 
the  hps  of  a  true  knight.  Then  he  called  to 
Trompart  his  squire,  saying,  "Bring  forth  the 
fairest  of  all  dames!"  Thereupon  Trompart  led 
forth  the  false  Florimell;  for  he  had  her  in  keeping, 
hidden  by  a  veil  from  the  common  sight. 

Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  company 
when  they  saw  her.  "This  surely  is  Florimell," 
they  said  to  themselves,  "or,  if  it  be  not,  then  it 
is  one  fairer  than  she."  Never  were  men  more 
perplexed  than  the  guests  that  day.  Nor  was  Sir 
Marinell  himself  less  amazed  than  the  rest,  and,  as 


2IO     OTHER   ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL 

he  gazed,  the  more  and  more  steadfastly  did  he 
believe  that  this  false  Florimell  was  indeed  the 
true. 

But  now  Sir  Artegall,  who  stood  in  the  press 
of  the  crowd,  closely  disguised,  heard  the  false 
boaster's  words,  and  could  not  contain  himself  any 
more,  but  came  forth  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice: 
"False  boaster,  strutting  thus  in  borrowed  plumes, 
and  doing  dishonour  to  others  with  your  Hes,  verily 
when  each  shall  have  his  due,  great  will  be  your 
disgrace !  'Tis  true  that  the  shield  which  you  bear 
was  this  day  borne  by  him  who  delivered  Sir  Mari- 
nell,  but  yours  was  not  the  arm  which  struck  the 
blow.  And  now  hold  forth  your  sword  and  let  it 
show  what  marks  of  battle  it  bears,  and  if  you  bear 
in  your  body  the  mark  of  a  wound,  let  this  com- 
pany behold  it;  nay,  boaster,  this  is  the  sword 
which  won  the  victory,  and  these  the  wounds  which 
were  endured  in  the  winning!"  And  here  he 
showed  his  sword,  which  bore  the  dint  of  many 
a  blow,  and  the  wounds  which  he  carried  on  his 
arms  and  his  body.  "  And,"  he  further  said,  "  as 
for  this  Florimell  of  yours,  I  warrant  she  is  no  true 
dame,  but  only  a  fit  companion  for  such  as  you." 
Then  he  took  the  true  Florimell  by  the  hand  and 
led  her,  she  blushing  the  while,  for  the  colour  on 
her  fair  face  was  of  roses  mixed  with  lilies,  and  set 
her  by  the  side  of  the  false.  And  then,  lo !  a  great 
marvel !  The  false  dame  melted  away  as  snow 
melts  in  the  sunshine !  In  a  moment  naught  re- 
mained   of   her   save    only   the   empty   girdle   which 


OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR   ARTEGALL     211 

once  had  compassed  her  waist.  So  on  a  day  of 
storm  we  see  a  rainbow  spanning  the  sky  with  all 
its  goodly  colours,  and  in  a  moment  it  vanishes 
from  our  sight,  so  did  this  lovely  creature,  the  false 
Florimell,  vanish  from  before  the  eyes  of  that  com- 
pany. And  now  Sir  Artegall  took  up  the  golden 
girdle  which  alone  remained  of  all  that  fair  show, 
for  this,  indeed,  was  true,  while  all  else  was  false. 
This  he  presented  to  the  true  Florimell,  and  she 
forthwith  fastened  it  about  her  waist.  Many  a  fair 
dame  before  had  essayed  to  do  it,  but  not  one  had 
found  it  truly  and  rightly  fit. 

But  the  end  of  these  things  was  not  yet,  for 
now  Sir  Guyon  came  forth  from  the  crowd  to  claim 
his  own  good  steed,  which,  as  has  been  told,  had 
been  stolen  from  him  in  time  past  by  this  false 
thief.  With  one  hand  he  seized  the  golden  bit, 
and  with  the  other  he  drew  forth  his  sword  from 
its  sheath,  for  he  would  have  smitten  the  knave 
with  a  deadly  blow,  but  that  the  press  hindered 
him,  for  now  there  was  a  great  tumult  in  the  place. 
Thereupon  Sir  Artegall  came  forth  and  would  fain 
know  how  the  knight  had  been  robbed  of  his  horse. 
Then  Sir  Guyon  told  the  story  how,  while  he  was 
busy  setting  right  a  grievous  wrong,  some  knave 
had  stolen  his  horse.  ^^And  now,"  said  he,  "I 
challenge  the  knave  who  robbed  me  of  it  to  deadly 
combat."  So  he  spoke,  but  Bragadocchio  held  back. 
He  had  no  hking  for  such  things. 

Then  said  Sir  Artegall:  "This  is  truly  the  law 
of  knighthood,  that  if  one  man  claim  a   thing  and 


212     OTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  SIR  ARTEGALL 

offer  to  make  good  his  claim  by  might  of  arms,  and 
the  other  will  not,  the  judgment  goes  against  the 
latter  by  default.  Nevertheless,  for  further  and 
clearer  discovery  of  the  truth,  can  you  who  claim 
this  horse  as  your  own  declare  some  tokens  in 
proof?" 

To  this  answered  Sir  Guyon:  "Most  truly  I 
can.  Such  a  token  there  is:  a  black  spot  in  the 
beast's  mouth  like  in  shape  to  a  horse's  shoe."  But 
when  they  thought  to  look  into  his  mouth  so  as 
to  discern  the  token,  he  wounded  first  one  and  then 
another  so  sorely  that  they  were  like  to  die.  From 
no  one  would  he  suffer  such  a  thing.  But  when 
Sir  Guyon  called  him  by  his  name  —  Brigador  —  he, 
hearing  the  voice,  stood  still,  as  if  he  had  been 
bound,  and  suffered  them  to  open  his  mouth,  so 
that  all  could  see  the  mark  as  it  had  been  described. 
Nay  more,  he  would  follow  Sir  Guyon,  breaking  the 
band  with  which  he  was  tied,  and  frisked  right  gaily, 
ay,  and  bent  his  knee. 

Then  said  Sir  Artegall:  "Now  it  may  be  plainly 
discerned  that  the  horse  is  indeed  yours.  Take  it 
therefore,  with  its  saddle  of  gold,  and  let  this  boaster 
go  horseless,  till  he  can  win  a  steed  for  himself." 

Much  was  Bragadocchio  moved  to  be  so  shamed 
in  the  presence  of  all  that  company  —  so  moved  that 
for  a  while  he  laid  aside  his  very  cowardice,  and 
broke  forth  into  angry  words  against  Sir  Artegall. 
The  knight  made  as  if  he  would  have  slain  the 
knave  with  his  sword,  but  Sir  Guyon  stayed  him. 
"Sir,"  said    he,  "it  would    ill    suit  your   dignity   to 


OTHER   ADVENTURES  OF  SIR   ARTEC  ALL     213 

vent  your  wrath  on  such  a  knave  as  this.  The 
meetest  punishment  for  him  is  to  be  put  to  open 
shame  in  the  sight  of  all  this  company." 

But  Talus  was  not  minded  to  let  the  knave 
escape  so  easily.  He  caught  him  by  the  neck  and 
led  him  out  of  the  hall,  and  shaved  his  beard,  and 
reft  away  his  shield,  and  blotted  out  the  escutcheon, 
and  defaced  all  his  arms.  Nor  did  the  false  squire, 
Trompart,  fare  better,  though  he  cunningly  had 
essayed  to  fly,  for  Talus  overtook  him  and  served 
him  in  the  like  way.  So  may  all  makers  of  false- 
hood fare ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SIR  ARTEGALL  DOES  JUSTICE 

THE  marriage  of  Sir  Marinell  and  the  fair 
Florimell  having  been  duly  celebrated  with 
much  rejoicing  and  great  festivity,  Sir  Artegall 
set  forth  again  upon  his  travels.  On  his  way, 
which  for  a  while  lay  by  the  seashore,  he  came 
upon  two  men  who  were  wholly  taken  up  with 
a  great  quarrel.  They  were  brothers,  as  might 
clearly  be  seen  by  the  likeness  between  them. 
Near  them  stood  two  fair  dames  who  would  fain 
have  reconciled  them;  but  the  brothers  took  no 
heed  of  their  words,  whether  they  spoke  gently 
or  in  threatening  fashion.  Between  them  stood  a 
strong  chest,  bound  about  with  bands  of  iron;  it 
seemed  to  have  been  much  battered,  whether  by 
the  violence  of  the  sea  or  by  the  chances  of  long 
travel  from  foreign  parts.  It  was  indeed  for  this 
that  the  two  seemed  to  be  contending,  for  now  the 
one  and  now  the  other  would  lay  his  hands  upon 
it;  so  did  they  well-nigh  come  to  blows,  but  the 
two  damsels  had  so  far  hindered  them  from  coming 
to  this  extremity.  Not  the  less  were  they  bent  on 
trying  their  cause  by  the  sword.  It  seemed  as  if 
it  could  not  be  decided  in  any  other   fashion.     But 

214 


SIR   ARTEC  ALL  DOES   JUSTICE  215 

when  they  were  on  the  point  to  do  so,  notwith- 
standing all  that  the  damsels  could  say  or  do,  then 
did  Sir  Artegall  appear. 

*^Sirs,"  said  he,  "are  you  content  to  tell  me 
the  cause  of  your  strife?"  To  this  the  two  gave  a 
common  consent. 

"Sir,"  said  the  elder  —  Bracidas  was  his  name  — 
"our  father,  who  was  a  knight,  Milesio  by  name, 
divided  between  us,  by  his  testament,  his  estate, 
that  is  to  say,  two  islands  which  you  see  yonder. 
One  is  but  a  little  mount,  but  in  years  past  it  was 
fully  as  long  and  broad  as  that  which  you  see  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bay.  To  me  he  bequeathed 
that  island  which  you  see  to  be  so  small;  for 
the  sea,  as  years  have  passed  by,  has  wasted  it, 
and  in  so  doing  has  largely  increased  the  other, 
for  what  the  waves  took  away  from  my  land  they 
added  unto  his.  There  is  also  this  to  be  told.  I 
was  betrothed  to  that  fair  lady  who  stands  yonder, 
Philtera  by  name,  and  with  her  I  was  to  receive 
a  goodly  dowry,  so  soon  as  we  should  be  linked 
together  in  bonds  of  wedlock.  My  younger  brother, 
whose  name  is  Amidas,  was  betrothed  to  that  other 
dame  whom  you  see  yonder,  Lucy  by  name.  She 
had  but  small  dower,  but  much  of  that  which  is 
far  better  —  to  wit,  goodness.  Now  when  the  lady 
Philtera  saw  that  my  lands  had  been  greatly  decayed 
and  the  lands  of  my  brother  not  less  increased,  she 
deserted  me  and  betook  herself  to  my  brother, 
who,  that  he  might  receive  her,  deserted  his  own 
betrothed,    to   wit,    the    fair   Lucy.     Thereupon   this 


2i6  SIR  ARTEGALL  DOES  JUSTICE 

damsel,  in  her  unhappiness,  thinking  it  better  to 
die  than  to  suffer  such  a  contumely  and  pain,  threw 
herself  into  the  sea.  But  while  she  floated  among 
the  waves,  being,  I  take  it,  buoyed  up  by  her 
clothing,  she  chanced  upon  this  chest  which  you 
see.  And  now  there  befell  her  what  has  often 
befallen  others  in  like  case.  She,  who  had  thought 
death  to  be  better  than  life,  when  she  saw  his 
terrors  close  at  hand,  changed  her  mind,  and  desired 
to  hve.  Catching  hold,  therefore,  of  this  chest, 
she  clung  to  it,  and  after  much  tossing  by  the  sea, 
was  at  last  thrown  upon  my  island,  and  I,  chancing 
at  that  time  to  be  walking  on  the  shore,  espied 
her;  and  she  being  by  this  time  much  spent  with 
hunger  and  cold,  and  little  able  to  help  herself,  I 
did,  so  to  speak,  save  her  from  death.  And  she, 
being  not  a  little  grateful  for  this  same  help,  be- 
stowed upon  me  the  dowry  which  fortune  had  given 
her,  to  wit  the  chest  on  which  she  had  chanced,  and 
what  was  far  more  precious,  her  own  self.  When 
we  had  opened  the  chest,  we  found  in  it  a  great 
store  of  treasure,  and  took  it  for  our  own  use.  But 
now  this  damsel,  Philtera,  maintains  that  this  chest 
is  hers  by  right,  that  she  was  bringing  it  from 
foreign  lands  that  she  might  deliver  it  to  her 
husband,  and  that  she  suffered  shipwreck  by  the 
way.  Whether  this  be  so  or  no,  I  cannot  say; 
but  this  I  do  maintain,  that  whatever  by  good 
fortune  or  by  the  ordering  of  God  has  been  brought 
into  my  hands  is  verily  mine,  I  not  having  in 
any   wise   contrived    the    same.    My   land    he    has, 


SIR   ARTEGALL  DOES   JUSTICE  217 

and  also  my  betrothed,  though  of  that  I  take  no 
count,  but  my  good  luck  he  shall  not  have!" 

To  this  the  younger  of  the  two  made  this  answer: 
*'As  for  the  two  islands,  it  is  as  my  brother  has 
said.  I  do  not  deny  the  truth.  But  as  for  this 
chest  and  the  treasure  therein,  which  has  been  cast 
by  the  sea  upon  his  island,  that  I  do  affirm  to 
belong  to  the  Lady  Philtera,  my  wife,  as  she  can 
prove  by  most  certain  signs  and  tokens,  and  I  do 
claim  that  it  be  straightway  rendered  up  to  her." 

Sir  Artegall  said:  *^It  were  no  hard  thing  to 
decide  this  matter,  if  you  would  refer  it  to  the 
judgment  of  some  just  man.  Are  you  content  so 
to  do?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  two  with  one  voice,  "you  shall 
be  a  judge  between  us,  and  we  will  abide  by  the 
judgment  that  you  shall  give." 

"Then  lay  down  your  swords  under  my  feet," 
said  Sir  Artegall,  and  they  laid  them  down. 

Then  Sir  Artegall,  turning  himself  to  the  younger 
of  the  two  brothers,  said  to  him:  "Tell  me  now  by 
what  right  you  hold  for  yourself,  and  withhold  from 
your  brother,  the  land  which  the  sea  has  taken  from 
him  and  added  to  you?" 

"I  do  so,"  the  man  made  answer,  "because  the 
sea  bestowed  it  upon  me." 

"You  are  in  the  right,"  said  Sir  Artegall;  "it  is 
yours,  keep  it."  Then  turning  himself  to  the  elder, 
he  said:  "Bracidas,  by  what  right  do  you  hold 
this  treasure  of  which  your  brother  and  his  wife 
affirm,  and  not  without  reason,  that  it  is  theirs?" 


2i8  SIR   ARTEGALL  DOES  JUSTICE 

"I  hold  it,"  said  he,  "because  the  sea  bestowed 
it  upon  me." 

"You  also  are  in  the  right,"  said  Sir  Artegall; 
"it  is  yours;  keep  it."  Then,  speaking  to  both, 
he  thus  declared  his  sentence:  "That  which  the 
sea  has  taken  is  his  own.  None  who  before 
possessed  it  has  claim  upon  it.  He  may  bestow 
it  as  he  will.  The  land  which  he  took  from 
Sir  Bracidas  he  gave  to  Sir  Amidas;  let  it 
therefore  remain  in  his  hand.  The  treasure 
which  he  took  from  Sir  Amidas,  or  from  the 
Lady  Philtera,  his  wife,  he  gave  to  Sir  Bracidas; 
let  him  also  keep  it." 

The  matter  being  settled,  the  knight  went  on 
his  way.  After  a  while  he  espied  a  great  rout 
of  people,  and  turned  aside  from  the  road  that 
he  might  discover  what  it  might  mean.  When 
he  came  near  he  saw  a  great  crowd  of  women, 
in  warlike  array,  with  weapons  in  their  hands. 
And  in  the  midst  of  them  he  saw  a  knight,  with 
his  hands  tied  tightly  behind  his  back,  and  a 
halter  about  his  neck;  his  face  was  covered,  but 
his  head  was  bare.  It  was  plain  that  the  man 
was  about  to  be  hanged.  And,  as  they  went, 
the  women  reviled  him  in  bitter  words.  When 
Sir  Artegall  came  near,  he  said:  "Tell  me,  pray, 
what  this  may  mean." 

To  this  they  gave  no  answer,  but  made  as  if 
they  would  assault  him.  Then,  at  the  knight's 
bidding.  Talus  went  among  them,  and  with  a 
few    strokes    of    his    iron     flail    sent     them    flying 


SIR  ARTEGALL  DOES  JUSTICE  219 

hither  and  thither.  Then  'he  took  the  knight, 
who  would  otherwise  have  been  put  to  death, 
and  brought  him  to  Sir  Artegall. 

"Sir  Turpine,  unhappy  man" — it  so  chanced 
that  he  knew  the  man  — "how  came  you  into  this 
evil  plight  ?  How  is  it  that  you  suffered  your- 
self to  be  thus  enslaved  by  women,  who  should 
rather  be  subject  to  men?"  Sir  Turpine  wa^ 
sore  ashamed  and  confounded,  and  could  say  but 
little  in  his  excuse  for  himself;  but  this  was  the 
story  which  he  told. 

"I  was  desirous,  as  was  indeed  my  knightly 
duty,  to  find  some  adventure  which  would  be 
praiseworthy  in  itself,  and  also  bring  me  to 
honour.  And  I  heard  a  report  that  there  was 
a  proud  amazon  who  was  accustomed  to  defy  all 
the  knights  of  Queen  Gloriana.  Some  she  had 
put  to  shame,  and  some  she  had  slain.  And 
the  cause  of  her  rage  was  this.  She  had  loved 
the  bold  Bellodant,  and  when  he  disdained  her, 
then  her  love  was  turned  to  hatred,  not  towards 
him  only,  but  towards  all  knights,  to  whom  she 
worked,  as,  indeed,  she  still  works,  all  the  mis- 
chief that  she  can  devise.  Any  whom  she  can 
subdue,  either  by  force  or  fraud,  she  treats  in 
the  most  evil  fashion.  First  she  takes  from  them 
their  arms  and  armour,  and  then  she  clothes  them 
in  women's  garments,  and  compels  them  to  earn 
their  bread  by  women's  work,  spinning  and  sewing 
and  washing  and  the  like.  And  all  the  food  that 
she   gives   them   in   recompense   is   but   bread    and 


220  SIR  ARTEGALL  DOES  JUSTICE 

water,  so  as  to  disable  them  from  taking  their 
revenge.  And  if  anyone  is  of  so  manly  a  mind 
that  he  sets  himself  against  her  pleasure,  him  she 
causes  to  be  hanged  out  of  hand  on  that  gibbet 
which  you  see  yonder.  And  in  this  case  I  stood. 
For  when  she  overcame  me  in  fight,  then  she 
put  me  into  that  base  service  of  which  I  have 
spoken;  and  when  I  refused,  then  she  sent  me 
with  that  rabble  of  women  whom  you  dispersed, 
that  I  might  be  done  to  death." 

"By  what  name  do  they  call  this  amazon?'' 
said  Sir  Artegall,   "and  where  does  she  dwell?" 

"Her  name,"  answered  Sir  Turpine,  "is 
Radigund;  a  princess  is  she  of  great  power 
and  pride,  well  tried  in  arms  and  skilled  in  battle, 
more  than  I  could  have  believed  had  I  not  known 
it  by  my  own  experience." 

"Then,"  said  Sir  Artegall,  "by  the  faith  which 
I  owe  to  my  queen,  and  the  knighthood  which 
I  bear,  I  will  not  rest  till  I  have  made  trial  of 
this  same  amazon,  and  have  found  out  for  myself 
what  she  has  of  strength  and  skill.  And  now. 
Sir  Turpine,  put  off  these  unseemly  clothes  which 
you  wear,  and  come  with  me  that  you  may  see 
how  my  enterprise  shall  prosper,  and  whether 
I  shall  avenge  the  cause  of  knighthood  upon 
this   woman." 

To  which  request  Sir  Turpine  consented  with 
all  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

RADIGUND 

RADIGUND  the  amazon  dwelt  a  mile  or  so 
from  the  place  where  the  gallows  had  been 
set  up,  in  a  city  which  she  had  called  Radigone, 
after  her  own  name.  On  the  walls  of  the  city  were 
set  watchmen  to  warn  the  queen  of  the  coming  of 
strangers.  One  of  these  espied  Sir  Artegall  and 
his  company,  and  gave  warning  accordingly, 
saying:  "I  see  three  strangers;  one  of  them  is  a 
knight  fully  armed,  and  the  others  have  a  warlike 
look!"  Thereupon  all  the  people  ran  in  haste  to 
arm  themselves,  Hke  to  bees  when  they  come  forth 
in  a  swarm  from  their  hive,  and  Radigund  herself, 
half -arrayed  as  a  man,  came  forth  from  her  palace. 
Meanwhile  the  three  drew  near  to  the  city  gate, 
and  when  the  porter,  thinking  scorn  of  them 
because  they  were  so  few,  did  not  trouble  to  open 
to  them  the  gate,  they  beat  upon  it  with  many 
blows,  threatening  the  man  also  that  he  should 
suffer   much  for  his  insolence. 

When  the  queen  heard  this  she  fell  into  a 
great  rage  and  cried:  "Open  the  gate;  these 
fellows  shall  soon  know  to  what  a  city  they  have 
come!"     So   the   porter   threw  wide   the   gate,    and 


222  RADIGUND 

the  three  pressed  forward,  meaning  to  pass  through. 
But  lo!  of  a  sudden  there  fell  upon  them  such  a 
storm  of  arrows  that  they  had  perforce  to  halt. 

"These  women,"  said  Sir  Artegall,  "are  stout 
fighters;  let  us  be  careful  what  we  do."  And 
when  they  halted,  the  rout  set  upon  them  more 
fiercely  than  ever.  As  for  Queen  Radigund,  when 
she  saw  Sir  Turpine,  and  knew  that  he  had 
escaped  from  the  doom  which  she  had  decreed  for 
him,  and  was  now  dealing  blows  to  her  women, 
she  was  carried  away  with  rage,  and  flew  at  him 
headlong,  as  a  lioness  flings  herself  at  an  ox,  and 
dealt  him  so  fierce  a  blow  as  brought  him  head- 
long to  the  ground.  And  when  she  saw  him  lying 
she  set  her  foot  upon  his  neck,  with  intent  to  make 
him  pay  with  his  life  for  his  disparagement  of  her 
authority.  So  does  a  bear  stand  over  the  carcase 
of  an  ox,  and  seem  to  pause  awhile  to  hear  its 
piteous  crying.  When  Sir  Artegall  saw  what  had 
befallen  Sir  Turpine,  he  made  all  haste  to  help 
him,  and  dealt  the  queen  so  mighty  a  blow  that  it 
reft  her  of  her  senses;  nay,  but  that  she  somewhat 
broke  its  force,  for  she  was  expert  in  arms,  it  had 
laid  her  dead  upon  the  ground.  For  a  while  she 
lay  without  speech  or  hearing;  then,  recovering 
herself,  she  would  have  assailed  him  with  all  her 
might,  for  never  before  had  she  endured  such 
disgrace.  But  when  her  maidens  saw  it,  for  a 
great  company,  armed  for  battle,  accompanied  her, 
they  thrust  themselves  between ;  for  they  deemed 
that  she  was  not  wholly  in  fit  condition  for  fighting. 


RADIGUND  223 

Thus  were  Sir  Artegall  and  Queen  Radigund 
perforce  kept  apart.  As  for  the  rest,  Talus,  with 
his  iron  flail,  drove  them  hither  and  thither,  break- 
ing their  bows  and  marring  their  shooting,  and 
they  fled  before  him  as  sheep  fly  from  a  wolf. 

When  evening  came.  Queen  Radigund  bade 
the  trumpeters  sound  a  recall,  so  that  the  soldiers 
should  cease  fighting.  All  the  people  she  made 
pass  back  into  the  city;  and  she  caused  all  them 
that  were  wounded .  to  be  carried  to  houses  where 
their  hurts  might  be  healed.  Then  Sir  Artegall 
caused  his  tent  to  be  pitched,  on  the  open  plain, 
not  far  from  the  gate  of  the  city.  There  he  and 
Sir  Turpine  took  their  ease,  but  Talus,  as .  was  his 
custom,  kept  watch  all  the  night.  But  Radigund 
was  ill-content  with  what  had  happened  that  day; 
never  before  had  her  pride  been  so  rebuked!  She 
could  not  rest,  but  cast  about  in  her  mind  how  she 
could  avenge  herself  for  the  shame  which  had  been 
put  upon  her  that  day,  and  that  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  After  a  while  she  made  this  resolve  in 
her  mind ;  that  she  would  meet  the  knight  in  single 
combat  and  make  trial  of  his  strength,  for  that  her 
people  should  suffer  such  waste  and  ruin  as  she 
had  seen  that  day  was  a  thing  not  to  be  endured. 
Then  she  asked  for  one  of  her  maidens,  Clarin  by 
name,  whom  she  judged  to  be  most  trustworthy, 
and  fit  to  do  her  errand,  and  said  to  her:  ^Xlarin, 
go  quickly,  and  bear  a  message  to  the  stranger 
knight,  who  has  so  distressed  us  this  day,  saying 
that  I  will   meet   him  to-morrow   in   single   combat. 


224  RADIGUND 

that  we  may  see  whether  he  or  I  be  the  better. 
Say  also  that  these  are  my  conditions:  If  I  over- 
come him,  then  he  shall  render  me  obedience  and 
be  bound  for  ever  to  my  service;  and  I,  if  he 
should  vanquish  me,  do  promise  to  do  the  same. 
Go,  therefore,  taking  with  you  six  of  your  fellows, 
arrayed  as  finely  as  may  be,  that  they  may  be 
witnesses  of  this  covenant !  Take  with  you  also 
wine  and  meats,  that  he  may  eat.  Verily,  if  I  have 
my  will,  he  shall  sit  hungry  many  a  day!'' 

So  the  damsel  did  as  she  was  bidden,  taking 
with  her  six  companions,  and  meat  and  drink  also. 
When  she  came  to  the  gate  of  the  city  she  bade 
the  trumpeter  blow  a  blast  for  warning  to  the 
knights.  And  when  Talus  came  forth,  she  said  that 
she  would  fain  speak  with  his  master.  So  being 
brought  with  her  companions  into  the  tent,  she 
delivered  to  him  the  message  of  the  queen.  Sir 
Artegall  received  her  right  courteously,  and  when 
she  had  departed  —  not  without  gifts  —  he  betook 
himself   to    sleep. 

The  next  day  the  two  adversaries  made  them- 
selves ready  for  battle.  Sir  Artegall  was  accoutred 
as  knights  commonly  are;  not  so  Queen  Radigund. 
She  wore  a  purple  cloak,  embroidered  with  silver, 
with  ribands  of  diverse  colours,  nicely  ordered 
upon  it.  This  cloak,  for  easier  motion,  she 
shortened  to  her  thighs;  but  when  she  pleased, 
she  could  let  it  fall  to  her  heels.  She  had  for 
defence  of  her  body  a  cuirass  of  chain-mail; 
buskins   she   had,   finely   embroidered   with   bars   of 


RADIGUND  325 

gold ;  at  her  side  she  had  a  scimitar  hanging  to  a 
most  gorgeous  belt;  her  shield  was  finely  decked 
with  precious  stones,  it  was  like  the  moon  when  it 
is  at  the  full.  In  this  guise  she  came  out  of  the 
city  gate,  a  noble  sight  to  see;  about  her  was  a 
bodyguard  of  maidens,  some  of  whom  made  music 
with  shawms  and  trumpets.  Her  people  had 
pitched  a  pavilion  for  her,  where  she  might  rest 
till  the  fight  should  begin.  After  this  Sir  Artegall 
came  out  of  his  tent,  fully  armed,  and  first  entered 
the  lists.  Nor  did  Radigund  long  delay  to  follow 
him.  And  when  the  lists  had  been  barred  against 
the  crowd,  for  a  great  multitude  of  people  were 
gathered  to  see  the  issue  of  the  battle,  the  trumpets 
sounded   the  signal,   and  the  combat  began. 

The  queen  charged  first  in  the  most  furious 
fashion,  as  if  she  would  have  done  her  adversary 
to  death  out  of  hand.  But  he,  having  had  much 
experience  in  such  matters,  was  not  carried  out  of 
himself  by  her  rage,  but  was  content  to  defend 
himself  from  her  assault ;  the  greater  was  her  fury, 
the  more  calmly  did  he  bear  himself.  But  when 
her  strength  began  to  fail  her,  then  he"  took  the 
other  part;  even  as  a  smith,  when  he  finds  the 
metal  grow  soft,  plies  his  hammer  with  all  his 
might.  Even  so  did  Sir  Artegall  deal  blow  upon 
blow  as  if  she  were  an  anvil;  and  the  sparks  flew 
from  her  armour,  and  from  her  shield  also,  for  with 
this  she  guarded  herself  in  right  skilful  fashion  from 
his  assault.  But  now  things  began  to  go  ill  with 
her;    for  off  this  same  shield   the  knight  with  one 

Q 


226  RADIGUND 


^ 


stroke  shore  away  a  full  half,  so  that  her  side  for 
half  its  length  was  exposed.  Yet  not  one  whit  was 
she  dismayed,  but,  smiting  him  with  her  scimitar, 
wounded  him  on  the  thigh,  making  the  blood  flow 
amain.  Loud  did  she  boast  when  she  saw  the 
blood,  thinking  that  she  had  wounded  him  to  death; 
but  he,  provoked  by  her  boasting,  struck  at  her  with 
all  his  might,  and  when  she  put  her  shield  to  ward 
the  blow,  lo !  this  was  shattered  altogether,  and  fell 
in  pieces  on  the  plain.  Next,  as  she  was  thus  left 
without  defence,  he  smote  her  again,  this  time  upon 
the  helmet;  so  that  she  fell  from  her  horse,  and 
lay  upon  the  plain,  Hke  to  one  that  was  dead. 
When  he  saw  her  lying  thus,  he  leapt  from  his 
steed  and  unlaced  her  helmet,  with  intent  to  sever 
her  head  from  her  body.  But  when  he  had  unlaced 
her  helmet,  lo !  her  face  was  discovered  to  him. 
So  fair  it  was,  even  though  covered  with  blood  and 
sweat,  that  he  stood  amazed;  it  was  as  when  a 
traveller  sees  the  face  of  the  moon  through  a  foggy 
night.  And  at  the  sight,  all  the  cruel  purpose 
departed  out  of  his  heart.  So  great  was  his  pity 
that  he  threw  his  sword  from  him,  for,  indeed,  there 
is  no  heart  so  hard  but  that  the  sight  of  beauty  will 
soften   it. 

As  he  stood  thus  astonished,  she  recovered  her- 
self from  her  swoon,  and  saw  the  knight  standing 
by  her  side  without  a  weapon.  Then  she  lifted 
herself  from  the  ground  and  flew  upon  him  with 
all  her  former  rage.  He,  indeed,  could  but  ward 
off  her  blows  with  his  shield,  as  well  as  he  could. 


RADIGUND  227 

And  now,  being  without  hope,  he  entreated  her  to 
withhold  her  hand.  "Not  so,"  said  she,  "till  you 
have  yielded  to  me  your  shield  in  token  of  submis- 
sion." Nor  could  he  refuse  so  to  do.  He  had 
overcome  her  in  fair  fight,  yet  now  was  he  himself 
overcome  by  his  own  misdoing,  for  he  had  of  his 
own  accord  given  up  his  sword,  and  so  lost  that 
which  he  had  attained.  Then  she  struck  him  on 
the  shoulder  with  the  flat  of  her  sword,  in  token 
that  he  was  from  henceforth  her  subject.  As  for 
the  unhappy  Sir  Turpine,  he  was  indeed  born  under 
an  unlucky  star,  for  they  took  him  back  to  the  place 
from  which  he  had  escaped,  and  there  hanged  him 
shamefully  by  the  heels.  Talus  they  could  not 
take,  for  all  that  they  sought  to  lay  hands  upon 
him.  He  laid  about  him  so  unmercifully  wkh  his 
flail,  that  they  were  right  glad  to  let  him  escape. 
Many  did  he  wound  and  some  he  slew;  the  rest  he 
put  into  great  fear.  Yet  he  would  not  seek  to 
rescue  his  lord.  "Nay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "Sir 
Artegall  has  yielded  himself  of  his  own  accord,  and 
I  must  e'en  let  him  be." 

Queen  Radigund  took  the  knight  who  had  thus 
made  himself  her  subject,  and  despoiled  him  of  all 
his  arms  and  armour,  and  put  upon  him  woman's 
clothing,  with  a  white  apron  in  place  of  a  breast- 
plate. Having  thus  arrayed  him,  she  brought  him 
into  a  great  chamber,  on  the  walls  of  which  were 
many  memorials  of  other  knights  whom  she  had 
dealt  with  in  the  same  fashion.  His  arms  and 
armour  she  caused  to  be  hung  up  among  these,  and 


228  RADIGUND 

his  sword,  lest  it  should  work  mischief  to  her,  she 
broke  in  twain.  When  he  was  come  into  this  place, 
he  saw  sitting  there  many  brave  knights  whose 
names  he  knew  right  well,  bound  all  of  them  to 
obey  the  amazon's  law,  and  spinning  and  carding 
wool.  This  they  did  under  constraint,  for  they  were 
bound  to  finish  their  task  by  the  appointed  time, 
nothing  being  given  them  whereon  to  dine  or  sup 
but  what  they  could  earn  by  this  woman's  work. 
The  queen  set  him  in  the  lowest  place  of  all,  and 
put  a  distaff  into  his  hands,  and  bade  him  spin  flax 
and  tow.  Truly  it  is  the  hardest  of  all  lots  to  be 
a  woman's  slave !  But  he  consented  to  her  will, 
saying  to  himself:  *^She  vanquished  me  in  battle, 
and  I  must  abide  by  my  own  word." 

After  a  while  the  queen  began  to  feel  the  be- 
ginning of  love  for  the  knight.  Long  time  she 
strove  against  it,  thinking  shame  to  be  so  over- 
come; but  finding  that  her  passion  was  not  to  be 
put  away,  she  sent  for  the  same  Clarin,  whom  she 
had  before  made  her  messenger,  and  said  to  her: 
*Xlarin,  you  see  that  fairy  knight,  who  has  been 
made  my  subject,  not  by  my  valour,  but  by  his  own 
honourable  mind.  He  gave  me  my  life,  when  it 
was  lost;  why  should  he  suffer  there  in  this  cruel 
bondage  ?  Why  should  I  recompense  him  with  ill 
for  so  good  a  deed  ?  I  would  fain  give  him  his 
freedom,  yet  in  such  a  fashion  that  in  giving  it  to 
him,  I  may  win  his  free  goodwill.  I  would  loose 
him,  and  yet  have  him  still  bound  to  me,  not  with 
the  bonds  of  violence  and  compulsion,  but  of  bene- 


RADIGUND  229 

volence  and  love.  Now  if  you  can  by  any  means 
win  him  to  such  a  mood,  but  without  discovering, 
mark  you  well,  my  thought,  you  will  win  a  goodly 
reward  from  him,  and  have  me  also  greatly  beholden 
to  you.  And  now,  that  you  may  be  able  to  pass 
freely  to  and  fro,  I  give  you  this  ring  as  a  token  to 
Eumenias"  —  this  was  the  keeper  of  the  knights' 
prison.  ^^Go  then,  my  Clarin;  use  to  the  best  all 
thy  wits,  employing  both  enticing  looks  and  fair 
speeches." 

So  Clarin,  promising  that  she  would  use  her 
best  endeavour  to  win  Sir  Artegall  to  such  thoughts 
as  her  lady  desired,  departed  on  her  errand.  She 
had  recourse  to  all  the  arts  she  knew  to  win  his 
favourable  regard,  and  one  day  she  said  to  him: 
*^Sir  Knight,  you  have  had  but  an  evil  fortune; 
you  sit  drowned  in  despair,  and  yet  you  might 
raise  yourself,  if  you  were  but  willing,  to  something 
better.'' 

He  was  in  doubt  what  this  speech  might  mean, 
and  so  made  answer:  "Fair  damsel,  that  you  regard 
me  with  compassion  is  in  itself  a  kindness  for  which 
I  am  in  your  debt.  But  you  must  know  that  a 
brave  heart  bears  with  equal  courage  fair  weather 
and  foul,  frowns  of  ill  fortune  or  smiles  of  prosperity. 
At  this  moment  my  Hfe  is  overcast  with  cloud,  yet 
I  hope  for  sunshine  to  come." 

"Yea,"  answered  the  maiden,  "and  what  say 
you  if  you  should  see  an  occasion  ready  to  your 
hand   for   entering   on   better   things  ?" 

"Truly,"    answered   Sir   Artegall,    "I    count    him 


230  RADIGUND 

to  be  unworthy  of  good  fortune  who  should  not 
promptly  take  such  occasion,  so  that  it  come  within 
his  reach." 

Then  said  Clarin:  "Why  do  you  not  set  about 
to  win  your  liberty  by  seeking  the  favour  of  the 
queen  ?  'Tis  true  that  she  has  passed  her  days  in 
war,  yet  she  is  not  born  of  tigers  or  bears.  She 
scorns  the  love  of  men,  yet  she  does  not  forget  that 
she  is  herself  of  the  kindred  of  man." 

To  this  Sir  Artegall  replied:  "Believe  me,  fair 
damsel,  that  not  from  obstinacy  or  disdain  have  I 
neglected  to  seek  her  favour.  'Tis  lack  of  means 
that  has  kept  me  back  from  so  doing;  and  if  you 
can  in  any  way  supply  this  lack,  then  shall  I  be 
bound  to  you  for  ever." 

"This  fish  bites  at  the  bait,"  said  the  damsel  to 
herself,  "but  it  is  not  yet  surely  caught."  But  even 
while  she  spoke,  she  herself,  foolish  maiden  that 
she  was,  was  caught  herself.  For,  as  a  fisher  who, 
while  he  seeks  for  the  prey,  falls  into  the  brook,  so 
Clarin,  seeking  to  serve  her  mistress's  ends,  con- 
ceived a  great  pity  for  this  captive  knight,  and  from 
pity  it  is  but  a  short  journey  to  love.  But  her  love 
she  durst  not  tell,  neither  to  the  knight,  lest  haply 
she  should  be  disdained,  nor  to  anyone  else,  lest 
that  by  any  means  it  should  come  to  the  know- 
ledge of  the  queen,  for  that  she  knew  would  mean 
a  sure  sentence  of  death.  Therefore  she  kept  the 
matter  in  her  heart,  watching  for  such  occasion  as 
might  arise. 

Queen     Radigund,     growing     impatient     of     the 


RADIGUND  231 

delay,  bade  her  unfold  the  truth.  "How  have  you 
fared?"  she  said,  "What  is  the  temper  of  the 
man  ?  Has  captivity  brought  him  to  a  more 
humble  mind  ?" 

"Not  so,"  said  Clarin;  "he  is  as  stern  and 
obstinate  as  ever.  He  scorns  all  offers  and  con- 
ditions ;  he  would  sooner  die  —  so  he  declares  — 
than  look  with  any  favour  on  those  who  have  done 
him  so  great  a  wrong.  This  in  brief  is  his  resolve; 
in  truth  these  are  his  very  words:  ^My  body  may 
be  thrall  to  the  queen,  but  my  heart  is  free.'" 

When  she  heard  these  words  the  queen  fell  into 
a  mighty  rage.  But  coming  to  herself,  and  per- 
ceiving that  anger  would  profit  her  nothing,  she 
said  to  her  minister:  "Clarin,  what  remains  for  us 
to  do  ?  It  were  a  shame  to  have  laboured  in  vain, 
and  still  more  a  shame  to  sit  down  content  when 
this  fellow  flouts  us  in  such  fashion.  Nevertheless, 
that  his  guilt  may  be  seen  to  be  the  greater,  and  my 
grace  the  more  admirable,  I  will  bear  with  this  folly 
of  his  till  you  shall  have  made  another  trial  of  him. 
And  you  I  charge  to  leave  nothing  that  can  be 
done  or  said  to  work  upon  him.  Leave  nothing 
unpromised  that  may  help  to  persuade  him.  Tell 
him  that  he  shall  have  life,  freedom,  grace,  and 
store  of  gifts,  for  by  gifts  even  the  hearts  of  gods 
are  touched.  And  to  these  promises  add  all  your 
arts  and  woman's  wiles.  And  if  your  arts  avail 
nothing,  then  let  him  feel  the  weight  of  your  hand. 
Diminish  his  victuals;  maybe  he  is  too  proudly 
fed;    put  more  labour  upon  him,   and   with   harder 


232  RADIGUND 

conditions ;  let  him  lodge  less  softly,  lying  upon 
straw;  do  aught  that  may  abate  his  courage  and 
J  his  pride;  put  a  chain  of  cold  iron  upon  him,  and 
deny ,  him  all  that  he  may  desire.  And  when  you 
have  done  all  this,  tell  me  how  he  bears  himself. 
If  need  be,  I  will  deal  with  him,  not  as  a  lover,  but 
as  a  rebel." 

All  this  Clarin  heard,  and  made  pretence  to 
fulfil  her  lady's  commands.  But  her  mind  was 
turned  to  quite  another  thing,  that  is  to  say,  to  play 
her  mistress  false,  and  to  gain  the  knight's  love  for 
herself.  To  him  therefore  she  made  as  great  a 
show  of  goodwill  as  she  could,  telling  him  that  she 
was  making  suit  for  him  to  the  queen,  that  she 
should  set  him  at  liberty,  but  that  she  could  not 
persuade  her. 

"The  more  I  entreat  her,"  she  said,  "the  sterner 
and  the  harsher  she  is."  Then  from  the  knight 
she  would  go  to  the  queen  and  say:  "The  more 
grace  I  show,  the  more  haughty  and  unbending  is 
he."  As  for  Sir  Artegall,  he  spoke  the  woman  fair, 
but  never  did  he  depart  from  his  loyalty  to  his  own 
fair  lady. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL  WAS  DELIVERED 

WHILE  Sir  Artegall  lay  thus  in  evil  plight 
under  the  tyranny  of  Queen  Radigund,  the 
Lady  Britomart  was  in  no  small  distress  of  mind. 
For  now  the  latest  date  that  had  been  fixed  for  his 
return  was  long  past,  and  yet  no  tidings  of  him  had 
come.  Sometimes  she  thought  that  some  mishap 
had  befallen  him  in  his  adventure,  and  sometimes 
that  his  false  foe  had  entrapped  him,  and  sometimes 
—  and  this  was  the  most  grievous  fear  of  all  —  that 
he  had  bestowed  his  love  upon  another.  She 
knew  no  ill  of  him,  nor  ever  had  heard  any;  yet 
could  she  not  forbear  to  think  ill.  Now  she  blamed 
herself,  and  now  she  condemned  him  as  being 
faithless  and  untrue.  Then  again  she  would  think 
to  herself:  *^ Surely  I  have  miscounted  the  time," 
and  she  reckoned  the  days  and  weeks  and  months 
again;  and,  indeed,  the  days  were  as  weeks  and 
the  weeks  were  as  months.  Also  she  considered 
within  herself  what  she  should  do;  should  she  send 
someone  to  search  for  him,  and  yet  who  could  go 
on  such  an  errand  but  herself  ?  She  could  not  rest 
in  her  dweUing,  no  place  could  please  her;  yet  that 
which   displeased    her   least   was   a   certain   window 

233 


234       SOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

which  looked  towards  the  west,  for  it  was  from  the 
west  that  Sir  Artegall  was  due  to  come.  It 
chanced  then  that  as  she  sat  at  this  same  window 
on  a  certain  day  she  saw  someone  approaching  at 
full  speed.  No  sooner  did  she  see  him,  though 
she  could  not  discern  his  face,  than  she  said  to 
herself,  "This  is  someone  from  my  love."  And 
truly,  when  he  came  nearer,  she  perceived  that  it 
was  Sir  Artegall's  groom  Talus.  The  sight  filled 
her  heart  both  with  hopes  and  with  fears;  nor 
could  she  stay  in  her  place,  but  ran  forth  to  meet 
him,  crying,  "Where  is  your  lord  ?  Is  he  far 
from  here?    Has  he  lost  or  has  he  won?'' 

Talus,  albeit  he  was  made  of  iron,  and  was 
without  feeling  of  pain  and  sorrow,  yet  was  con- 
scious within  himself  that  his  news  was  ill,  and 
stood  silent  as  if  he  would  rather  that  she  should 
discern  his  tidings  than  that  he  should  declare 
them.  Then  she  said:  "Take  courage.  Talus; 
tell  me  what  you  have  to  tell,  be  it  good  or  be 
it  bad." 

Then  he  answered:  "If  I  must  tell  my  evil 
tidings,  so  be  it.  My  lord  lies  in  wretched 
bondage." 

"How  came  that  to  pass?"  said  Britomart ; 
"did  the  tyrant,  his  enemy,  vanquish  him?" 

"Not  so,"  quoth  Talus,  "no  tyrant  man  did 
vanquish  him,  but  a  tyrant  woman."  Great  was 
the  rage  of  Britomart  when  she  heard  these  words. 

"And  you  are  not  ashamed,  evil  newsmonger, 
to    come    here    with    such    tidings    of    your     lord's 


HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED       235 

disgrace?''  And  she  turned  her  back  upon  him, 
seeking  her  own  chamber;  and  there  with  much 
self -torturing  she  spent  many  weary  hours. 

The  next  day  she  sought  out  Talus  again,  and 
being  now  in  a  milder  mood,  she  said:  "Tell  me 
now  plainly  how  came  Sir  Artegall  into  this  capti- 
vity.    Does  he  woo  this  tyrant  lady?" 

"Ah!  madam!"  answered  Talus,  "he  is  in  no 
state  to  woo;  he  lies  in  thraldom,  weak  and  wan; 
and  yet,  for  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  was  by  his 
own  doing  that  he  came  into  this  state." 

Then  Britomart's  anger  was  kindled  again. 
"Are  you  not  leagued  together  to  deceive  me  ? 
You  say  that  he  came  into  this  bondage  of  his 
own  accord;  is  he  not  then  false?" 

Then  Talus  unfolded  the  whole  story  of  how 
Sir  Artegall  fought,  and  how  he  was  vanquished, 
not  by  the  strength  of  his  adversary,  but  by  his 
own  compassion.  When  Britomart  heard  this  same 
story,  she  was,  so  to  speak,  torn  asunder  by  anger 
and  grief,  nor  would  anything  content  her  but  that 
she  must  straightway  put  on  her  armour,  mount 
her  horse,  and  ride  forth  to  deliver  Sir  Artegall, 
Talus  being  her  guide.  After  they  had  ridden  for 
a  space  they  came  upon  a  knight  who  was  riding 
slowly  across  the  plain,  a  man  well  stricken  in 
years,  and  of  a  very  modest  and  peaceable  bearing. 
He  saluted  Britomart  right  courteously,  and  she, 
though  in  her  sad  mood  she  would  sooner  have 
remained  without  speech,  answered  him  pleasantly. 
Then   he   began   to   talk   of   many   things,  and  she, 


236       HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

though  wholly  occupied  in  her  mind  with  one 
matter,  to  wit,  the  deHverance  of  Sir  Artegall 
from  his  prison,  made  such  replies  as  were  suitable. 
After  some  converse  he  said:  "Friend,  night  is 
about  to  fall,  and  there  are  tokens  of  rain  in  the 
heavens;  will  you  not  lodge  with  me  at  my  house?" 
And  Britomart,  seeing  that  the  day  was  far  spent, 
consented. 

They  rode  therefore  to  the  knight's  dwelling, 
which  was,  indeed,  hard  by.  There  he  most 
hospitably  entertained  them,  both  with  good  cheer 
and  pleasant  conversation.  When  the  hour  of  rest 
came,  Britomart  was  conducted  to  the  bower  where 
she  should  sleep.  There  she  found  grooms  who 
offered  to  undress  her,  but  she  would  not  doff  her 
arms  for  all  her  host's  entreaties.  "Nay,"  she 
said,  "I  have  vowed  a  vow  that  I  will  not  take 
off  these  arms  till  I  have  taken  vengeance  for  a 
great   wrong   that   has   been   done   to   me." 

When  she  made  this  answer,  it  might  have  been 
perceived  that  her  host  was  somewhat  troubled. 
Nevertheless  he  took  his  leave  right  courteously, 
and  departed.  Britomart  watched  all  the  night;  if 
sleep  seemed  about  to  settle  for  a  moment  on  her 
eyes,  she  shook  it  off  with  a  right  resolute  will. 
And  Talus  watched  also;  outside  her  door  did  he 
he  in  no  small  trouble  of  mind,  as  a  dog  that  keeps 
guard  over  his  master's  chamber.  So  night  passed, 
but  about  the  dawn,  when  the  cock  commonly  crows 
for  the  first  time,  Britomart  perceived  that  the  bed 
in   her   chamber   began   to   sink   through   the    floor, 


HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED       237 

and  that  after  awhile  it  was  raised  again.  And 
while  she  waited  to  see  what  this  might  mean, 
though  indeed  it  was  clear  that  it  meant  treachery 
of  some  sort,  there  came  two  knights  to  her  chamber 
door,  with  a  rabble  rout  of  followers  after  them. 
But  these  came  on  a  vain  errand.  Talus,  having 
his  iron  flail  ready  to  his  hand,  laid  about  him  with 
a  right  goodwill.  They  fled  before  him,  both 
knights  and  the  rabble  also.  Some  he  struck  to 
the  ground  as  they  fled,  and  others  as  they  strove 
to  hide  themselves  in  dark  corners  of  the  house. 

Now  the  true  story  of  the  matter  is  this.  This 
knight,  who  seemed  so  gentle  and  courteous,  was 
one  Dolon,  a  man  of  great  cunning  and  of  an  evil 
mind.  He  had  been  a  knight  in  his  youth,  yet  had 
achieved  no  honour;  only  by  his  craft  he  had  un- 
done many  men  who  were  better  than  himself. 
Three  sons  he  had,  of  the  same  temper  as  himself, 
full  of  fraud  and  guile.  One  of  these,  the  eldest  in 
birth,  Guizor  by  name,  had  been  slain  by  Sir 
Artegall  in  battle,  not  without  his  deserving,  for  he 
had  sought  to  compass  some  treachery.  And  now 
this  Dolon  would  have  taken  vengeance  for  this 
injury.  Britomart  he  took  for  Sir  Artegall,  chiefly 
by  reason  of  the  page  Talus,  with  the  iron  flail, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  his  company.  The  next  day, 
so  soon  as  it  was  light,  Britomart  departed.  And 
when  the  two  knights  would  have  stayed  her  going, 
and  this  on  the  bridge  where  Artegall  had  fought 
Pollente,  she  vanquished  them.  And  one  she 
caught   up   in   her   arms,    and   carrying   him   to  the 


238       HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

bridge  end,  cast  him  into  the  water,  where  he 
perished  miserably. 

After  journeying  awhile,  Britomart,  with  Talus 
her  guide,  came  to  the  city  of  Queen  Radigund. 
The  queen,  when  she  was  advised  of  her  coming, 
was  greatly  rejoiced,  for  she  had  not  had  the  great 
joy  of  battle  for  many  days,  and  it  always  pleased 
her  greatly  to  have  experience  of  a  new  adversary. 
She  commanded  that  a  pavilion  should  be  set  up 
outside  the  city  gate  for  the  new-comer.  There 
Britomart  rested  that  night,  Talus  keeping  watch, 
as  was  his  wont,  at  the  door.  The  townsfolk  also 
kept  watch  upon  the  walls.  At  sunrise  the  queen 
caused  a  trumpet  to  be  blown  to  warn  the  stranger 
that  the  hour  of  battle  was  come.  Such  warning 
Britomart  needed  not,  for  she  had  slept  but  ill,  so 
troubled  was  she  in  heart  with  jealousy  and  anger. 
Then  the  two  made  ready  for  the  combat.  But 
first  the  queen  would  have  her  adversary  bind 
herself  to  perpetual  service  if  the  fortune  of  the  day 
should  go  against   her. 

But  Britomart  cried:  "I  will  have  no  such  con- 
ditions, no  terms  will  I  accept  but  such  as  are 
prescribed  by  the  laws  of  chivalry!'*  Then  the 
trumpets  sounded  again,  and  the  two  ran  at  each 
other  with  great  fury.  It  seemed  to  them  who 
looked  on  that  both  the  one  and  the  other  had  for- 
gotten all  their  skill  in  arms,  so  possessed  were  they 
<  with  rage.  They  sought  not  to  ward  off  blows,  but 
only  to  strike.  And,  indeed,  none  could  have  said 
who  struck  the  harder. 


HOW  SIR   ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED       239 

At  last  Radigund,  thinking  that  she  had  her 
adversary  at  a  disadvantage,  dealt  her  a  blow  with 
all  her  might,  saying  at  the  same  time:  "You  love 
this  man;  here  then  is  a  token  of  your  love,  which 
you  may  show  him;  for  what  could  be  a  surer  proof 
than  to  die  for  him?" 

But  Britomart  answered:  "Have  done  with 
idle  words  about  my  love, "  and  though  she  was 
sorely  wounded  by  the  stroke,  for  the  blade,  break- 
ing through  the  shoulder-plate  of  her  armour,  bit  to 
the  bone,  she  gave  in  return  even  more  than  she 
had  received.  The  sharpness  of  the  pain  gave  a 
new  force  to  her  arm,  and  she  struck  the  queen  so 
fierce  a  blow  on  the  head  that  it  broke  through  her 
helmet  and  laid  her  senseless  on  the  ground.  Nor 
did  Britomart  wait  for  her  adversary  to  recover 
herself;  but,  urged  by  injured  love  and  pride,  and  the 
fresh  smarting  of  her  wound,  with  one  blow  cleft 
both  helmet  and  head.  When  her  guards  per- 
ceived this  dreadful  sight,  they  fled  headlong  to  the 
city,  but  did  not  so  escape,  for  Talus,  taking  up  his 
flail,  entered  at  the  gate  along  with  the  rout  of 
fugitives,  and  dealt  death  in  every  direction.  Small 
need  had  they,  I  ween,  of  a  physician  on  whom 
one  of  his  strokes  had  lighted.  Verily  he  had 
destroyed  them  all,  but  that  the  heart  of  Britomart 
was  moved  to  see  such  great  slaughter. 

"Hold  your  hand,"  she  cried;  "it  is  enough!" 
Then  she  commanded  that  someone  should  lead  her 
to  the  prison  where  Sir  Artegall  was  kept  in  bonds. 
Much  was  she  moved  to  see  these  knights  in  their 


240       HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

womanish  attire,  plying  distaff  and  spindle.  But 
when  she  espied  Sir  Artegall  himself,  and  saw  how 
pale  and  wan  and  wasted  he  was,  her  heart  was 
well-nigh  broken  in  her  breast.  Bitterly  did  she 
repent  of  her  unkind  suspicions:  this  was  no 
lover  of  women  whom  she  saw  before  her  in  so 
sad  a  plight! 

Then  she  bade  take  him  to  a  chamber  where  he 
might  put  off  these  uncomely  garments,  and  put  on 
the  apparel  that  belonged  to  a  knight,  and  take 
again  his  arms  and  armour,  of  which  there  was  a 
great  store  in  the  place.  Not  a  Httle  rejoiced  was 
she  when  she  saw  how  he  became  again  like  to 
the  knight  whom  she  had  seen  long  since  in  the 
magic   mirror. 

For  a  while  they  tarried  in  the  city,  for  he 
needed  to  rest,  and  she  had  wounds  which  it  was 
well  to  heal.  And  she,  being  now  queen  of  the 
land  in  the  place  of  the  dead  Radigund,  wholly 
changed  the  form  of  the  commonwealth.  She  did 
away  with  this  same  monstrous  rule  of  women,  and 
ordered  all  things  according  to  the  ordering  of 
nature,  and  showed  such  justice  and  wisdom  that 
the  people  gladly  made  submission  to  her  govern- 
ment. The  knights  whom  she  found  in  the  prison- 
house  she  set  free,  and  made  them  rulers  in  the 
city,  having  first  caused  them  to  take  an  oath  to  be 
loyal  to  Sir  Artegall.  There  was  but  one  thing 
that  troubled  :  her  to  wit,  that  her  lover  must  now 
proceed  on  the  errand  to  which  he  was  bound. 

This    he    did    in    not     many     days'    time,    Talus 


HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED       241 

travelling  with  him  as  before.  After  a  while  they  saw 
a  damsel  on  a  palfrey,  flying  as  fast  as  she  could,  and 
two  knights  pursuing  her  also  at  their  utmost  speed; 
they  saw  also  how  another  knight  was  riding  after 
these  two.  Each  was  intent  on  his  own  business, 
the  two  knights  on  chasing  the  damsel,  the  single 
knight  on  chasing  the  two,  the  damsel  seeking  if, 
by  any  means,  she  could  escape.  But  when  she 
saw  Sir  Artegall,  being  at  her  wits*  end,  she  turned 
her  course  towards  him,  hoping  that  he  might  give 
her  help.  The  foremost  of  her  pursuers  —  pagan 
knights  both  of  them  —  continued  his  course,  and 
with  his  spear  in  rest  charged  Sir  Artegall.  But 
there  he  had  met  more  than  his  match;  the  Christian 
was  both  stronger  and  more  skilful  in  arms,  and 
drove  him  out  of  the  saddle  full  two  spears'  length, 
and  it  so  chanced  that  in  falling  he  lighted  on  his 
head,  and  so  was  killed  outright. 

Meanwhile  his  companion  had  fared  as  ill,  for 
the  single  knight  overtaking  him,  had  compelled 
him  to  stand  and  do  battle,  in  which  battle  he  was 
defeated  and  slain.  This  done,  he  still  followed, 
and  taking  Sir  Artegall  for  the  other  pagan,  charged 
him  at  full  tilt.  They  met  with  a  great  crash,  and 
both  their  spears  were  broken,  and  though  neither 
was  driven  from  his  saddle,  yet  they  tottered  as  two 
towers  which  an  earthquake  makes  to  rock.  But 
when  they  drew  their  swords  to  renew  the  combat, 
the  damxsel,  seeing  that  her  two  friends  were  like  to 
come  to  as  ill  an  end  as  had  her  two  foes,  ran  up, 
crying  out:    **0h,  sirs,  stay  your  hands  till  I  shall 


242       HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

tell  you  how  the  matter  stands.  'Tis  I  that  have 
been  wronged,  and  you  have  brought  me  help, 
slaying  these  two  pagans  who  ^ere  pursuing  me. 
These  lie  dead  upon  the  ground;  what  quarrel  have 
you  against  each  other?  If  there  be  still  any 
wrongdoer  or  cause  of  trouble,  truly  it  is  I.'^ 

When  the  two  heard  these  words,  they  held 
their  hands,  and,  lifting  up  the  visors  of  their 
helmets,  looked  each  in  the  other's  face.  And  when 
Sir  Artegall  saw  the  last  comer,  who  was  no  other 
than  Prince  Arthur,  he  was  sure  that  he  was  a  very 
noble  knight,  and  said:  "Pardon  me,  fair  sir,  that 
I  have  erred  in  lifting  my  hand  against  you.  I  will 
make  what  amends  you  will.'' 

"Talk  not  of  amends,"  answered  the  prince;  "I 
was  in  equal  error,  taking  you  for  this  dead  pagan." 
So  they  swore  friendship,  and  made  a  covenant  of 
mutual  help. 

Then  said  Sir  Artegall,  "Tell  me,  sir,  who  were 
these  knights  that  have  come  by  this  bad  end?" 

"That  I  know  not,"  answered  the  prince,  "but 
know  that  this  damsel  was  in  distress,  and  that  I 
sought  to  succour  her.  But  doubtless  she  herself  will 
unfold  the  whole  matter  to  us." 

Then  the  damsel  told  her  story.  "Know,  sirs," 
she  said,  "that  I  serve  a  maiden  queen  of  these 
parts,  Mercilla  by  name,  a  lady  known  far  and  wide, 
and  envied  also,  for  her  prosperity  and  her  good- 
ness. Enemies  she  has,  and  chief  among  these  is 
a  pagan  prince,  who  is  bent  on  overthrowing  her 
kingdom,    yea,    verily,  and    on    slaying    her    sacred 


HOW  SIR   ARTEGALL   WAS   DELIVERED       243 

self.  To  this  wickedness  he  is  stirred  up  by  his 
evil  wife,  Adikia^  by  name.  'Tis  she  who,  trusting 
in  her  power,  moves  him  to  all  kinds  of  wrong. 
Now  my  liege  lady,  being  desirous  of  peace,  and 
wilHng  for  sake  of  it  to  give  up  something  of  her 
just  right,  sent  me  to  make  a  treaty  with  this  same 
Adikia,  so  that  there  might  be  quietness  in  the 
land.  Now,  as  you  know,  it  has  been  a  custom  of 
all  time  that  such  messengers  have  Hberty  to  come 
and  go  without  hindrance  or  harm.  But  this  evil 
woman,  without  any  offence  given  on  my  part, 
broke  forth  in  railing  upon  me,  and  not  only  this, 
but  thrust  me  from  her  door  as  if  I  were  a  dog. 
Yea,  and  when  I  had  departed,  she  sent  these  two 
knights  after  me  to  take  me  prisoner.  To  you, 
therefore,  for  myself  and  for  the  queen,  whose  mes- 
senger I  am,  I  render  you  most  hearty  thanks." 

When  they  had  heard  the  damsel's  story,  the 
two  knights.  Sir  Artegall  and  Prince  Arthur, 
counselled  together  what  should  be  done  in  this 
matter.  Of  which  consultation  the  conclusion  was 
that  they  should  punish  those  who  were  guilty  of 
this  wrongdoing,  that  is  to  say  the  sultan  and  his 
wife  and  the  knights  who  lent  themselves  to  do 
their  evil  will.  Further,  they  concluded  to  carry 
out  this  purpose  in  the  way  now  to  be  described. 
Sir  Artegall  should  disguise  himself  in  the  accoutre- 
ments of  one  of  the  dead  pagan  knights,  and  should 
take  with  him  the  damsel  to  the  sultan's  court, 
making   as   though  she  was  his  prisoner. 

^  Adikia  =  Unrighteousness. 


244       HOW  SIR   ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

Sir  Artegall  therefore  having  donned  the  armour 
of  one  of  the  two  knights,  took  the  damsel  with  him, 
as  being  a  prisoner,  and  so  came  to  the  sultan's 
court.  And  the  sultan's  wife,  who  chanced  to  be 
looking  from  the  window,  saw  them,  and  did  not 
doubt  but  that  her  errand  had  been  performed,  and 
sent  a  page  who  would  show  the  knight  what  he 
should  do.  The  page  therefore  brought  them  to 
the  place  appointed,' but  when  he  would  have  eased 
Sir  Artegall  of  his  armour,  the  knight  refused,  for 
he  feared   to  be  discovered. 

Meanwhile  Prince  Arthur,  coming  to  the  gate  of 
the  city,  sent  to  the  sultan,  this  message:  "I  demand 
that  there  be  dehvered  to  me  the  Lady  Samient" — 
this  was  the  damsel's  name  —  ^^  being  the  ambassador 
of  Queen  Mercilla,  whom  you  wrongfully  detain  in 
custody." 

When  the  sultan  heard  this  message,  he  was 
filled  with  anger,  and  commanded  that  his  armour 
should  be  brought.  This  he  straightway  put  on, 
and  mounted  his  chariot.  This  same  was  armed  in 
dreadful  fashion  with  iron  hooks  and  scythes,  and  was 
drawn  by  savage  horses,  whom  he  was  wont  to  feed 
on  the  flesh  of  men.  The  poor  wretches  whom  in 
his  cruelty  he  slew,  he  was  wont  to  give  when  they 
were  but  half  dead  to  these  beasts.  In  this  guise 
he  came  forth  from  the  city  gates,  where  he  found 
Prince  Arthur  awaiting  him,  mounted  on  his  steed, 
with  Talus  standing  at  his  stirrup. 

The  sultan  drove  straight  at  his  adversary, 
thinking    to    overthrow    him    by    the    rush    of    his 


HOW  SIR   ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED       245 

chariot,  and  that  his  horses  would  trample  him 
in  the  dust.  But  the  prince  perceiving  his  design, 
withdrew  himself  a  pace,  and  so  escaped  the  danger. 
Nor  was  he  hurt  by  the  dart  which  the  sultan  cast 
at  him  as  he  passed ;  this  also  he  avoided,  and  it  was 
well  that  he  did  so,  else  of  a  certainty  it  had  pierced 
either  him  or  his  horse  from  side  to  side.  But 
when  Prince  Arthur  sought  to  approach  the  sultan, 
the  horses  carried  the  chariot  out  of  his  reach,  so 
swift  of  foot  were  they.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
sultan,  having  a  store  of  darts  ready  to  his  hand  in 
the  chariot,  cast  them  at  the  prince,  and  with  one 
of  them  pierced  the  prince's  cuirass,  and  made  a 
grievous  wound  in  his  side.  So  did  the  combat  rage 
between  these  two,  the  prince  being  at  this  dis- 
advantage also,  that  his  horse  could  not  endure  the 
look  of  the  sultan's  horses,  so  fierce  and  fiery  of 
aspect  were  they.  At  the  last,  finding  that  all  other 
means  were  of  no  avail,  he  drew  the  covering  from 
his  shield  —  a  thing  which  he  was  not  wont  to  do 
save  in  the  last  extremity  —  and  held  it  so  that  the 
hght  shining  from  it  fell  full  on  the  eyes  of  the 
sultan's  horses.  As  a  flash  of  lightning  did  it  fall 
upon  them,  and  they  straightway  turned  and  fled. 
Nor  could  the  sultan  stay  their  flight.  The  reins 
were  of  no  avail;  they  heeded  them  not;  and  when 
he  called  to  them,  they  would  not  hear.  Over 
hill  and  dale  they  carried  him,  he  vainly  dragging 
at  the  reins,  and  cursing  aloud;  while  the  chariot, 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  tossed  him  to  and  fro. 
Still    the    prince    followed    close    behind,    but    still 


246    .  HOW  SIR  ARTEGALL   WAS  DELIVERED 

found  no  opportunity  to  strike.  Nor,  indeed,  had 
he  need,  for  coming  to  some  rocky  ground,  the 
horses  overset  the  chariot,  and  the  sultan  was  torn 
in  pieces  by  his  own  contrivance  of  scythes  and 
hooks.  Then  the  prince  took  up  his  shield  and 
armour  from  where  they  lay,  sorely  bent  and 
broken,  upon  the  ground.  These  he  carried  back 
to  the  city,  and  hanged  them  on  a  tree  before  the 
palace  door.  When  the  wicked  wife  saw  what  had 
happened,  she  ran  down  from  her  chamber  like  to 
one  mad,  saying  to  herself,  ^'I  will  be  avenged  on 
that  damsel  who  has  brought  upon  me  all  this 
trouble."  And  she  ran,  knife  in  hand,  to  the  place 
where  she  had  been  put.  But  Sir  Artegall  stayed 
her  hand.  And  she,  being  made  yet  more  furious, 
ran  forth  into  the  woods,  and  there  abode,  in  the 
form  —  so  some  men  said  —  of  a  tigress.  Sir  Artegall 
meanwhile  vanquished  the  sultan's  knights,  and 
established  a  new  order  in  the  city. 


f 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

OF  THE  KNAVE   MALENGTN 

THE  two  knights  delivered  the  city,  when  they 
had  ordered  it  anew,  to  the  Lady  Samient,  to 
hold  for  Queen  Mercilla.  This  done,  they  would 
have  departed  on  their  own  business,  but  Samient 
was  not  content  that  they  should  depart  without 
seeing  the  queen,  and  this,  overborne  by  her 
entreaties,  they  consented  to  do.  As  they  jour- 
neyed, the  damsel  said  to  them:  "There  abides  in 
this  region  a  very  sturdy  villain,  who  is  wont  to  rob 
all  the  country  round  about;  and  carries  the  spoil 
to  ^  rock  which  he  makes  his  dwelling,  and  to  this 
place  no  man  can  get,  so  hard  of  access  is  it.  Also 
he  is  marvellously  light  of  hand  and  nimble  of  foot, 
smooth  of  face,  and  so  subtle  in  his  talk  that  he  can 
deceive  well-nigh  anyone." 

When  the  two  knights  heard  this  tale,  they 
desired  with  one  accord  that  the  damsel  should  take 
them  to  the  place  where  this  villain  abode. 

"That  would  I  willingly  do,"  said  she,  "only 
that  the  going  thither  would  hinder  your  journey 
to  Queen  Mercilla." 

"Let  not  that  stay  you,"  said  the  prince,  and 
Sir  Artegall  gave  also  his  consent. 

247 


248  OF   THE  KNAVE  MALENGIN 

So  they  travelled  onwards  together.  After  a 
while  the  damsel  said  to  the  knights:  "We  are 
close  to  the  place!"  Then  Sir  Artegall  and 
Prince  Arthur  consulted  together  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  They  agreed  that  the  damsel  should 
sit  by  the  robber's  cave,  and  raise  a  great  uproar, 
and  that  when  he  should  come  to  see  what  was 
the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  they  should  set  upon 
him,  and  hinder  his  return.  So  the  Lady  Samient 
went  to  the  cave,  and  there  threw  herself  upon 
the  ground,  and  then  made  a  great  uproar,  with 
much  wailing  and  many  cries  of  grief.  When 
the  villain  heard  it  he  came  forth  from  his  den, 
thinking  that  something  had  come  in  his  way. 
A  dreadful  creature  he  was  to  see,  with  hollow 
eyes,  and  long  curling  hair  which  fell  over  his 
shoulders,  and  a  most  uncouth  and  ragged  gar- 
ment. In  his  hand  he  carried  a  long  staff  with 
iron  hooks  at  the  end  of  it,  and  on  his  back  he 
bore  a  wide  net.  This  he  used,  not  for  fishing 
in  the  brook,  but  to  catch  such  prey  as  he  desired 
on  the  dry  land,  taking  them  unawares. 

When  the  damsel  saw  this  strange  creature 
standing  close  by  her  she  was  not  a  little  dis- 
mayed, and  cried  out  for  help  in  good  earnest. 
But  he,  with  guileful  words,  would  have  per- 
suaded her  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear;  and 
then,  while  she  Hstened,  as  she  could  scarce  re- 
frain from  doing,  suddenly  he  threw  his  net  about 
her,  and  lifting  her  from  the  ground  ran  with 
her    to    his    cave.     But    when,    as    he    came    near 


OF  THE  KNAVE  MALENGIN  249 

to  the  cave  mouth,  he  saw  the  two  knights  bar- 
ring the  way,  he  threw  down  on  the  ground  his 
net  with  its  burden,  and  fled  away:  Hke  to  a 
wild  goat  did  he  leap  from  rock  to  rock,  and  he 
ran  along  the  cliff-side  without  fear,  into  places 
where  Sir  Artegall,  for  all  his  courage,  durst  not 
follow  him.  So  the  knight  sent  his  iron  man. 
Talus,  to  follow  him.  And  when  the  knave  saw 
that  the  new-comer  was  not  less  swift  of  foot 
than  he  was  himself,  and  did  not  grow  weary  or 
scant  of  breath,  then  he  left  running  on  the  hills 
and  came  down  again  to  the  plain.  And  here 
he  had  recourse  to  a  new  device,  changing  him- 
self into  various  shapes.  First  he  made  himself 
into  a  fox,  but  Talus  was  not  slow  to  hunt  him 
as  a  fox  is  hunted;  then  into  a  bush,  but  the 
iron  man  beat  the  bush  with  his  flail;  and  from 
the  bush  he  made  himself  into  a  bird,  but  Talus 
threw  stones  at  the  bird,  and  with  so  sure  an 
aim  that  he  soon  brought  it  to  the  ground,  as  if 
it  had  been  itself  a  stone.  This  Talus  took  from 
the  ground  and  brought  it  to  the  knights,  and 
gave  it  to  Sir  Artegall,  saying  at  the  same  time: 
"Take  it.  Sir  Knight,  but  beware!  Hold  it 
fast!"  And  lo !  even  while  he  held  it  fast,  it 
was  changed  into  a  hedgehog,  and  pricked  the 
knight's  hand  so  sorely  that  he  threw  it  away. 
And  the  villain  returned  to  his  own  shape  and 
would  have  fled.  But  when  Talus  perceived  it, 
he  followed  and  overtook  him  and  led  him  back. 
Then   did    he   change   himself   into    a   snake;     but 


250  OF   THE  KNAVE  MALENGIN 

this  Talus  struck  so  heavily  with  his  iron  flail 
that  he  broke  all  his  bones,  and  left  him  dead 
for  the  fowls  of  the  air  to  devour. 

After  this  they  came  to  the  palace  of  Queen 
Mercilla,  as  fair  and  noble  a  palace  as  was  ever 
seen  upon  the  earth.  The  porch  stood  open  day 
and  night,  so  that  all  comers  might  enter  in. 
But  a  warder  of  giant  form  sat  there,  to  keep 
from  entering  all  that  harboured  guile  or  malice, 
and  such  as  with  flattery  and  dissembling  work  such 
harm  in  the  courts  of  kings.  The  warder's  name  was 
Awe.  Such  as  were  permitted  to  pass  in  were  mar- 
shalled in  the  hall  by  another  warder,  whose  name 
was  Order.  There  they  saw  many  noteworthy 
things,  and  chief  of  all  the  Queen  Mercilla  her- 
self, where  she  sat  on  her  throne,  with  a  sceptre 
in  her  hand,  a  pledge  of  peace  and  clemency. 
And  under  her  feet  lay  a  great  Hon,  very  fierce 
of  nature,  but  wholly  tamed  in  that  presence.  So 
then  the  two  did  obeisance,  and  stood  aside  while 
the  queen  judged  affairs  of  state,  and  ministered 
justice  and  equity  to  her  people.  Of  all  these 
affairs  the  chiefest  was  the  trial  of  a  great  lady 
who  stood  before  the  throne,  most  fair  and  royally 
arrayed.  Many  accusations  were  brought  against 
this  lady,  the  prosecutor  being  one  Zeal.  Nor 
could  this  be  wondered  at,  for  this  great  lady  was 
no  other  than  the  false  Duessa.  It  was  surely 
proved  against  her  that  she  had  deceived  knights, 
and  brought  them  to  shame,  and  even  to  death; 
also  that  she  had  wrought  upon  two  vain  knights. 


OF   THE  KNAVE  MALENGIN  251 

Blandamour  and  Paridell,  to  devise  hostility  against 
Queen  Mercilla  herself.  Sir  Artegall  was  so  moved 
by  these  accusations  that,  being  a  lover  of  justice, 
he  was  firm  in  taking  the  contrary  part  against 
her.  Prince  Arthur,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not 
a  little  touched  by  the  pleadings  on  her  behalf. 
When  all  had  been  heard  on  either  side,  Queen 
Mercilla  gave  judgment,  and  although  Duessa's 
guilt  was  clear  beyond  all  doubt,  yet  she,  being  true 
to  name  and  nature,  did  not  adjudge  the  extreme 
penalty  of  death,  but  ordered  that  she  should  be 
so  kept  as  not  to  do  any  mischief  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

OF   THE   LADY  BELGE 

WHILE  the  two  knights  tarried  at  the  court 
of  Queen  Mercilla,  being  entertained  by  her 
in  the  most  Hberal  fashion,  there  came  two  youths 
from  a  foreign  land,  praying  for  help  for  their 
mother,  the  Lady  Beige.  It  was  a  piteous  story 
that  they  told  before  the  Queen  Mercilla  and  all 
the  knights  and  ladies  of  her  court.  The  Lady 
Beige  had  been  in  former  days  among  the  most 
fortunate  of  women.  She  had  to  husband  a  most 
worthy  and  noble  prince,  of  wide  dominions  and 
great  wealth;  she  had  also  a  very  fair  progeny, 
even  seventeen  sons,  fair  children,  and  of  great 
promise.  Anyone  who  saw  them  in  those  days 
would  surely  have  said  that  not  Niobe  herself,, 
before  she  moved  the  wrath  of  Apollo  and  Diana, 
was  more  blessed  in  her  progeny.  Now  the  begin- 
ning of  troubles  to  this  honourable  lady  was  that 
her  husband  died  in  his  prime,  before  any  of  his 
children  had  come  to  such  an  age  that  they  could 
fill  his  place.  And  because  the  times  were  ill- 
suited  to  a  woman's  rule,  she  was  constrained  to 
look  for  someone  who  should  give  her  help  and 
protection.      Now     there    was    in     those    parts     a 

252 


OF   THE  LADY   BELGE  253 

monstrous  creature,  Geryoneo  by  name,  son  of 
that  Geryon  who  was  slain  by  Hercules.  He 
w3,s  terrible  to  look  upon,  and  marvellously  strong, 
for  he  had  three  bodies  joined  in  one,  the  legs  and 
arms  of  three  men,  as  it  were,  to  help  him  in  the 
fighting.  He,  feigning  himself  to  be  just  and  kind, 
proffered  his  service  to  the  Lady  Beige  while  she 
was  yet  in  the  first  trouble  of  her  widowhood, 
undertaking  to  defend  her  against  all  enemies  both 
from  within  and  from  without.  This  proffer  she 
gladly  accepted,  and  he,  for  a  time,  kept  the  pro- 
mise which  he  had  made  well  and  loyally.  But 
having  established  himself  in  the  country,  and 
Beige  having  given  into  his  hands  all  the  power, 
he  began  to  bear  himself  most  cruelly.  Many 
wrongs  did  he  do  to  this  most  unhappy  lady,  but 
of  all  the  wrongs  the  worst  was  this,  that  he  took 
of  her  children,  one  after  another,  to  offer  up  in 
sacrifice  to  a  horrible  idol  which  he  had  made  of  his 
father  Geryon.  Twelve  had  he  taken,  one  by  one, 
so  that  now  there  were  left  to  the  unhappy  mother 
but  five  only.  And  now,  all  other  hope  having 
been  lost,  she  bethought  her  of  the  gracious  Queen 
Mercilla,  and  sent  her  two  eldest  sons  to  entreat 
her  help. 

When  they  had  told  their  story  there  was  for 
a  while  silence  in  the  court,  no  one  caring  to  take 
this  adventure  upon  himself.  And  when  Prince 
Arthur  saw  that  no  one  offered  himself,  he  stood 
forth  and  said:  ^' Grant  me  leave,  gracious  queen, 
to  succour  this  distressed  lady!" 


254  OF  THE  LADY  BELGE  , 

"Readily  do  I  grant  it,"  said  the  queen.  There- 
upon he  began  straightway  to  prepare  himself  for 
his  journey,  for  he  would  not  lose  time;  even  on 
the  morrow  would  he  start  on  this  adventure.  And 
so  it  was.  So  soon  as  the  next  morning  came  the 
prince  set  forth,  not  without  gifts  from  the  queen. 
Sir  Artegall  he  left  to  follow  his  own  business,  but 
the  two  young  sons  of  the  Lady  Beige  went  with 
him,  guiding  him  on  his  way. 

It  was  but  a  short  journey  to  the  place  where 
the  Lady  Beige  dwelt.  The  tyrant  had  shut  her 
out  from  the  cities  of  her  land,  and  from  all  the 
pleasant  spots;  she  had  her  abode  in  the  midst 
of  marshes  and  fens,  and  was  glad  to  find  shelter 
in  them  from  the  cruelty  of  her  oppressor.  In  such 
a  dismal  region  did  Prince  Arthur  find  her,  Hving 
quite  alone,  for  her  children  had  left  her,  seeking 
safety  elsewhere.  And  she  herself,  when  she 
caught  sight  of  a  man  clad  in  armour,  made 
ready  to  fly.  But  then,  spying  her  own  two  sons, 
she  took  heart,  and  looked  up  joyfully,  for  she 
knew  that  the  stranger  was  come  to  give  her 
help.  Then  she  threw  her  arms  round  the  necks 
of  the  two  lads  as  they  knelt  before  her,  crying, 
"Oh,  my  sweet  boys,  now  I  seem  to  live  again,  so 
joyful  a  thing  is  it  to  see  you !  Surely  the  sun 
shines  brighter  than  its  wont,  thanks  to  your 
coming  and  to  the  presence  of  this  noble  knight." 
Then  turning  to  Prince  Arthur  she  said:  "Noble 
sir,  who  have  taken  all  this  trouble  to  help  a 
miserable    woman,    may     heaven     reward    you     for 


OF   THE  LADY  BELGE  255 

your  goodness.  Reward  have  I  none  to  give,  for 
all  that  is  left  to  me  is  bare  life,  and  that  life  so  full 
of  misery  that  it  is  more  Hke  to  a  lingering  death  !'^ 

The  prince  was  not  a  Httle  moved  at  these 
sorrowful  words,  and  sought  to  comfort  her.  "Take 
heart,  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "for  help  is  at  hand,  and 
these,  your  troubles,  will  have  an  end.  But.  now 
come  with  me,  and  find  some  spot  where  you  may 
more  conveniently  dwell  than  in  this  miserable 
place." 

"Ah  sir,"  she  answered,  "to  what  place  shall  I 
go  ?  The  enemy  dwells  in  my  palaces,  my  cities 
are  sacked,  my  towers  are  levelled  with  the  ground, 
and  what  were  abodes  of  men  are  fields  where  the 
wild  flowers  grow.  Only  these  marshes,  the  abode 
of  efts  and  frogs,  are  left  to  me." 

"Nay,  good  lady,"  answered  the  prince,  "think 
better  things  than  these.  We  will  find  some  place 
to  harbour  us.  And  if  it  yield  not  itself  willingly, 
then  will  we  compel  it;  for  all  that  your  adversary 
may  do,  we  will  purchase  it  with  spear  and  shield; 
and  if  not,  then  the  open  field  shall  give  us  wel- 
come; earth  has  a  lodging  for  all  its  creatures." 
With  such  words  did  the  prince  encourage  her,  so 
that  she  made  ready  to  go  with  him. 

They  set  out  therefore  and  came  to  a  city  which 
once  had  been  the  Lady  Beige's  own,  but  had  been 
taken  from  her  by  her  enemy.  He  had  pulled 
down  its  stately  towers,  closed  its  harbour,  marred 
the  trade  of  its  merchants,  and  brought  its  people 
to   poverty.    And    he   had    built   a   great   fort   from 


2S6  OF   THE  LADY  BELGE 

which  he  dominated  the  place.  For  a  while  the 
city  had  resisted  his  tyranny,  but  had  now  sub- 
mitted itself  to  him,  so  purchasing  Hfe,  but  losing 
all  else  that  is  worth  the  having.  Many  things  did 
it  suffer  from  his  tyranny,  but  of  all  that  it  endured 
the  worst  was  this,  that  it  was  compelled  to  offer 
sacrifices  of  human  life  to  a  hideous  idol  which  the 
tyrant  had  set  up  in  a  chapel  which  he  had  built 
and  adorned  with  costliest  fittings  of  gold  and 
ivory.  In  this  city  he  had  put  a  strong  garrison, 
and  in  command  of  this  garrison  he  had  set  a 
seneschal,  a  very  stalwart  knight,  who  had  van- 
quished hitherto  all  the  knights  that  had  ventured 
to  come  against  him.  He  had  vanquished  them, 
and  when  he  had  them  in  his  power  he  had  dealt 
with  them  in  the  most  shameful  fashion. 

When  the  Lady  Beige  knew  the  place,  she  said 
to  the  prince,  ^^Oh,  sir,  beware  what  you  venture; 
very  many  knights  have  been  undone  at  this  place." 
To  this  warning  he  paid  no  heed,  but  riding  up 
to  the  wall  of  the  city,  called  to  the  watchmen,  "I 
challenge  to  single  combat  the  seneschal  of  this 
fortress."  Nor  did  the  man  delay  to  come,  but 
donning  his  armour,  rode  forth^  from  the  city  gate. 
The  two  combatants  met  in  full  tilt  in  the  open 
field,  charging  each  the  other  with  his  spear  full  upon 
the  shield.  But  the  spear  of  the  seneschal  made 
no  way,  of  so  pure  and  well-refined  a  metal  was 
the  prince's  shield.  Broken  was  it  into  pieces 
without  number.  But  the  spear  of  the  prince 
passed    through   the  pagan's    cuirass,    and    made    a 


Prince  Arthur  slaying  the  Seneschal. 


OF   THE  LADY   BELGE  357 

deep  wound  in  his  body,  so  that  he  fell  from  his 
horse  to  the  ground.  There  the  prince  left  him  to 
lie,  for  he  was  dead  almost  before  he  touched  the 
ground,  and  rode  straight  to  the  fortress  seeking 
entrance.  But  as  he  rode  he  spied  three  knights 
advancing  towards  him  at  the  top  speed  of  their  horses. 
All  three  charged  him  at  once,  all  aiming  their  spears 
at  one  place  in  his  armour.  But  the  prince  did  not 
swerve  from  his  straight  seat  in  his  saddle,  no,  not  by  a 
hair's-breadth.  Firm  as  a  tower  he  sat,  and  with 
his  spear  he  smote  that  one  of  the  three  who  had 
the  middle  place.  Nor  was  his  smiting  in  vain, 
for  he  drove  the  spear  through  the  shield  and 
through  the  side  of  the  man,  so  that  he  fell  dead 
straight- way  on  his  mother-earth.  When  his  fellows 
saw  how  easily  he  had  been  overcome,  they  fled 
away  as  fast  as  their  steeds  could  carry  them.  But 
the  prince  followed  yet  faster,  and  overtook  them 
hard  by  the  city  gate.  There,  as  they  hasted  to 
enter,  one  hindered  the  other,  and  the  prince  slew 
the  hindmost.  The  third,  striving  to  shut  the  gate 
in  his  adversary's  face,  was  hindered  by  the  carcase 
of  his  companion,  for  it  lay  in  the  way.  So  he 
fled  into  the  hall  which  stood  at  the  entering  in 
of  the  gate,  hoping  so  to  save  himself,  but  the 
prince  following  hard  after  him,  slew  him  there. 
When  they  that  were  left  of  the  garrison  saw  how 
it  had  gone  with  these  three,  they  were  sore  afraid, 
and  fled  in  great  terror,  escaping  by  a  postern  door. 
When  the  prince  found  no  more  to  oppose  him, 
he   returned    to   the   Lady   Beige,    and   brought   her 


2S8  OF   THE   LADY   BELGE 

into  the  city,  her  two  sons  being  with  her.  Many 
thanks  did  she  render  for  the  good  service  which 
he  had  done  her. 

When  the  tidings  of  what  had  befallen  the 
seneschal  and  his  knights  came  to  the  sultan,  he 
was  carried  out  of  himself  with  rage.  Neverthe- 
less there  was  something  of  fear  mingled  with  his 
rage,  for  his  conscience  smote  him  with  the  thought 
that  the  recompense  of  his  evil  deeds  was  at  hand. 
Nevertheless  he  comforted  himself  with  this:  "There 
is  but  one  of  them,  and  he  cannot  always  prevail.'' 
Therefore  he  armed  himself:  also  he  took  with  him 
all  the  followers  that  he  had,  and  marched  to  the 
gate  of  the  city,  and  there  demanded  entrance, 
saying,  "Yield  me  up  this  place  straightway,  for  it 
is  my  own." 

To  this  summons  the  prince  made  no  answer, 
but  rode  forth  through  the  gate,  ready  armed  for 
battle.  And  being  on  the  farther  side  he  said, 
"Are  you  he  that  has  done  all  this  wrong  to  the 
noble  Lady  Beige,  exiling  her  from  her  own  land 
in  such  fashion  that  all  the  world  cries  shame 
on  you?" 

The  tyrant  answered,  "I  stand  on  my  own 
right;  what  I  have  done,  that  will  I  justify!"  So 
saying  he  ran  furiously  at  the  prince,  beating  upon 
his  armour  with  a  great  battle-axe  as  if  he  would 
have  chopped  it  in  pieces.  So  fierce  was  his  onset 
that  the  prince  was  constrained  to  give  place  awhile. 
So  heavy  were  his  strokes,  one  had  thought  they 
would    have    riven    a    rock    asunder.    Also    he    had 


OF   THE  LADY  BELGE  259 

the  advantage  of  his  threefold  form.  Three  pairs 
of  hands  he  had,  and  he  could  shift  his  weapon 
from  one  to  the  other  as  occasion  served.  So 
crafty  was  he  and  so  nimble,  that  an  adversary 
scarce  could  know  where  and  when  he  should 
defend  himself.  But  the  prince  was  his  match 
and  more.  Ever  he  watched  the  motion  of  his 
hands,  and  parried  the  blow  wherever  it  might 
fall.  And  the  tyrant,  being  thus  baffled  again  and 
again,  roared  for  very  rage,  till,  at  the  last,  gather- 
ing up  all  the  strength  of  the  three  bodies  into 
one  stroke,  he  thought  to  fell  his  adversary  to  the 
ground.  What  had  happened  had  the  stroke  come 
upon  the  man  none  can  say,  but  it  lighted  on  the 
horse  and  brought  him  to  the  ground.  So  now 
the  prince  was  constrained  to  fight  on  foot,  and 
the  giant  laughed  aloud  to  think  that  he  had  him 
at  a  disadvantage.  But  the  fortune  of  the  fight 
went  not  so.  Now  this  arm  and  now  that  did  the 
prince  shear  away  with  his  good  sword,  and  he 
himself  was  sheltered  safe  under  his  shield;  so 
faultless  was  its  temper,  that  no  blow  could  shatter 
it.  And  ever  the  giant  was  more  and  more  carried 
away  by  his  rage,  till,  at  the  last,  offering  his  whole 
side  to  the  attack  of  the  prince,  he  was  brought 
to  the  ground  a  corpse,  nay,  three  corpses,  for  all 
were  smitten  to  death  by  the  one  stroke,  and  lay 
a  bloody  heap  upon  the  plain. 

All  this  while  the  Lady  Beige  watched  the 
fortunes  of  the  fight  from  the  city  wall,  with  her 
two  sons  standing  on  either  hand.    And  when  she 


26o  OF   THE  LADY   BELGE 

saw  the  issue  she  hastened  to  greet  him;  the 
people  of  the  city  also,  who  had  waited  to  see  to 
whom  the  victory  should  fall,  hastened  to  do  him 
homage.  Right  glad  were  they  to  be  rid  of  the 
giant's  tyranny. 

When  the  Lady  Beige  had  rendered  the  prince 
her  thanks,  which  he  received  with  due  modesty  — 
"'Tis  not  the  strength  nor  courage  of  the  doer," 
said  he,  "but  the  justice  of  his  deed  that  should 
be  looked  to" — she  said:  "O  noble  sir,  you  have 
freed  me  from  my  chief  foe;  nevertheless  there 
remains  yet  something  to  be  done.  I  pray  you 
not  to  stay  your  victorious  arms  till  you  have 
rooted  out  all  that  remains  of  this  vile  brood,  and 
established  my  peace  for  ever." 

"Tell  me,  lady,"  he  answered,  "what  is  this 
that  remains  ?" 

"Sir,"  she  answered,  "in  this  temple  hard  by 
there  is,  as  you  have  heard,  a  monstrous  idol  which 
this  tyrant  set  up,  and  to  which  he  offered  up  sacri- 
fices, taking,  alas !  of  my  dear  children,  and  many 
children  also  of  this  people.  Now  in  a  cavern 
underneath  this  idol  there  lies  a  most  hideous 
monster,  which  is  wont  to  feed  upon  the  flesh  of 
these  sacrifices.  No  man,  they  say,  has  ever 
looked  upon  its  shape,  so  fearful  is  it,  and  lived." 

When  the  prince  heard  this  he  was  occupied 
with  a  great  desire  to  deal  with  this  same  monster, 
and  demanded  that  the  queen  should  show  him 
the  place  where  it  abode.  "It  is  beneath  the  altar," 
said    she;     and    he    uijcovered    his    shield,    for    the 


OF  THE  LADY  BELGE  261 

need  was  such  as  to  demand  the  help.  The  idol 
he  saw,  but  not  the  monster.  Then  he  took  his 
sword,  and  with  the  naked  blade  he  struck  three 
times,  as  if  in  defiance,  and  at  the  third  time  the 
monster  came  from  out  its  hiding-place.  Hideous 
it  was  to  see,  huge  of  size,  as  long,  it  seemed,  as 
the  whole  chapel,  with  the  face  of  a  woman  and 
the  body  of  a  dog;  its  claws  were  like  to  Hon's 
claws;  it  had  a  tail  with  a  deadly  sting,  and  eagle's 
wings.  Nevertheless,  for  all  its  strength,  it  was 
dismayed  to  see  the  knight,  and  especially  the 
burning  brightness  of  his  shield.  It  would  have 
fled  again  to  its  hiding-place,  but  that  the  prince 
would  not  suffer.  Seeing,  then,  that  it  had  to  fight, 
the  monster  flew  at  the  prince's  shield,  and  caught 
it  with  its  claws,  purposing  either  to  break  it,  or, 
if  that  might  not  be,  to  wrench  it  out  of  his  hands. 
Long  did  they  struggle  together,  but  at  the  last  the 
prince,  with  a  stroke  of  his  sword,  shore  off  the 
monster's  claws.  Exceeding  loud  was  the  bellow- 
ing which  it  made,  seeming  to  make  the  whole 
chapel  rock  to  its  foundations.  Next  it  struck  at 
the  prince  with  its  great  tail,  and  well-nigh  brought 
him  to  the  ground;  but  before  it  could  strike  a 
second  blow,  he  had  severed  the  last  joint  with 
his  sword.  Last  of  all,  it  raised  itself  on  its  great 
wings  and  flew  at  his  head;  doubtless  it  had  hurt 
him  sore  but  that  he  held  his  shield  between. 
While  he  so  warded  off  the  attack,  he  struck  full 
at  the  monster's  belly,  and  so  did  it  to  death. 
Great   was    the   rejoicing   in    the   city   when    the 


262  OF   THE  LADY  BELGE 

people  knew  that  the  creature  which  had  oppressed 
them  so  long  was  slain.  They  crowned  the  prince  with 
bays,  and  led  him  through  the  streets  with  solemn 
pomp.  After  this  he  tarried  awhile  in  the  city, 
establishing  Queen  Beige  on  her  throne,  and  set- 
ting all  things  in  due  order,  till  the  time  came 
when  he  had  to  depart  for  the  completing  of 
his  task. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND  GRANTORTO 

WHILE  these  things  were  doing,  Sir  Artegall 
set  forth  to  accomplish  his  task,  having  Talus 
with  him  as  before.  After  he  had  journeyed  awhile, 
he  overtook  an  old  man  who  was  travelling  alone, 
and  perceived  that  he  was  the  same  that  had 
attended  the  Lady  Irene  when  she  came  to  the 
court  of  Queen  Gloriana.  He  had  been  a  famous 
knight  in  his  day,  but  had  long  since  foregone  the 
use  of  arms,  being  stricken  with  age. 

"Hail,  Sir  Sergis,"  he  cried,  "there  lives  no 
truer  knight,  I  know;  but  tell  me,  what  is  your 
errand?  How  fares  the  Lady  Irene?  How  comes 
it  that  you  have  left  her?  Is  she  in  prison? 
Does  she  yet  live?" 

"She  lives,"  answered  the  old  knight,  "but  she 
is  in  sore  trouble.  Trusting  to  your  promise  that 
you  would  come  to  be  her  champion,  and  do  battle 
with  him  who  was  oppressing  her,  she  came  at 
the  appointed  time,  but  found  you  not.  And  now 
Grantorto  has  thrown  her  into  prison,  and  has 
appointed  her  a  day,  saying  that  if  by  that  time 
no  champion  shall  appear  to  justify  her  and  prove 
her  clear  of  the  crimes  of  which  she  is  accused,  she 
shall  suffer  death." 

263 


264        OF  SIR  ARTEGALL   AND   GRANTORTO 

Sir  Artegall  was  sorely  troubled  to  hear  these 
words,  knowing  that  she  suffered  these  things 
through  his  default.  "Verily/'  he  said,  "I  am  to 
blame  for  this  fair  maiden's  trouble,  in  that  I 
was  not  present  to  maintain  her  cause;  but,  as 
you  know,  I  was  not  wholly  to  blame  for  that 
which  hindered  me.  But  tell  me,  how  many  days 
has  the  tyrant  allowed  for  the  finding  of  this 
champion?" 

'^Ten  days  he  has  given,"  answered  the  old, 
knight,  "  but  he  knows  that  'tis  only  a  form,  for  he 
guards  all  the  coasts  and  approaches  by  which  such 
a  champion  might  come.  Indeed,  he  counts  her  to 
be  already  dead." 

"Turn  again,  dear  knight,"  said  Sir  Artegall; 
"surely,  if  I  live,  she  shall  have  the  champion 
whom  she  needs  within  the  appointed  time!"  So 
they  two  went  on  together. 

As  they  rode  they  were  aware  of  a  great  rout 
of  people  who  seemed  to  be  looking  on  at  some 
affray.  Coming  nearer,  they  perceived  a  number 
of  rude  fellows  setting  on  a  single  knight,  and 
chasing  him  to  and  fro  as  if  they  would  make  him 
prisoner.  And  he,  on  the  other  hand,  sought  to 
make  his  way  to  a  lady  who  might  be  seen  in 
another  part  of  the  field,  holding  up  her  hands  and 
praying  for  help.  Wheresoever  he  turned  they  gave 
way  before  him,  yet  ever  returned  and  renewed 
their  attack,  and,  so  great  were  their  numbers, 
pressed  him  sorely.  So  harassed  was  he  with  their 
assailing,    that   he    threw   away   his    shield,  a    most 


OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND  GRANTORTO        265 

dishonourable  thing  for  any  knight  to  do,  and  one 
that  marks  him  with  shame  without  end.  When 
Sir  Artegall  saw  in  what  an  evil  plight  the  man 
stood,  he  rode  forward  to  his  help,  yet  he  was  him- 
self so  rudely  assailed  that  he  was  constrained  to 
give  place  for  a  while.  But  when  Talus  began  to 
use  his  iron  flail,  then  the  multitude  fled  for  their 
lives,  being  scattered  as  the  wind  scatters  the  chaff 
on  a  threshing-floor.  When  the  knight  had  given 
thanks  for  his  deliverance,  Sir  Artegall  said  to 
him: 

"What  is  the  occasion  of  this  uproar?  Who 
are  you,  and  who  are  these  villains  that  attacked 
you  so  furiously?" 

The  knight  answered:  "My  name  is  Burbon; 
I  have  won  honour  as  a  knight,  and  have  been  in 
good  repute  till  of  late  trouble  has  overtaken  me. 
This  lady  is  by  name  Fleur  de  Lys;  my  love  she 
is,  though  of  late  she  has  scorned  me;  I  know  not 
whether  by  her  own  choice  or  by  constraint  of 
others.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  she  was  once 
betrothed  to  me  of  her  own  free  choice;  but  a 
certain  tyrant,  whom  men  call  Grantorto,  won  her 
by  gifts  and  lying  words.  This  host  of  villains  he 
sent  to  take  her  away  from  me  by  open  force." 

Then  said  Sir  Artegall:  "I  see.  Sir  Knight, 
that  you  have  suffered  grievous  things,  yet  not 
without  fault  of  your  own.  But  let  us  first  rid  you 
of  these  villains.  That  done,  we  can  make  a  settle- 
ment of  other  matters." 

This  then   they  did,   Talus    greatly  helping  with 


266        OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND   GRANTORTO 

his  flail.  But  when  they  came  to  the  lady,  who  had 
been  left  by  them  who  had  taken  her  prisoner,  they 
were  in  no  little  doubt  in  what  mind  she  was,  for 
she  seemed  to  be  neither  glad  nor  sorry.  One 
thing  was  certain,  to  wit,  that  she  was  wondrous 
fair  and  clad  in  splendid  robes.  When  Sir  Burbon, 
lighting  from  his  horse,  ran  to  her  and  would  have 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  she  turned  from  him  in 
high  disdain.  "Begone,"  she  cried,  "and  touch 
me  not."  Then  said  Sir  Artegall:  "Fair  lady, 
you  cast  a  very  great  blemish  on  your  beauty,  if 
you  change  a  plighted  faith.  Is  there  aught  on 
earth  so  dear  and  so  precious  as  faith  and  honour? 
Love  surely  is  dearer  than  life,  and  fame  is  more  to 
be  desired  than  gold;  but  a  plighted  troth  is  more 
to  be  honoured  than  even  love  or  fame."  At  this 
rebuke  the  lady  seemed  much  abashed,  and  Sir 
Burbon,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  set  her  on  her  steed, 
nor  did  she  repulse  him.  So  they  rode  away,  but 
whether  wholly  agreed  or  not,  no  one  can  say. 

These  matters  being  accomplished.  Sir  Artegall 
with  Sir  Sergis  pursued  his  journey  till  they  came 
to  the  seashore.  There  by  good  fortune  they  found 
a  ship  ready  equipped  for  sailing.  This  they  hired, 
that  it  should  take  them  whither  they  would,  and 
enibarking  in  it,  found  wind  and  weather  serve 
them  so  well  that  in  a  single  day  they  came  to  the 
land  which  they  sought.  There  they  saw  drawn 
up  on  the  shore  great  hosts  of  men  who  should 
hinder  them  from  landing.  But  they  did  not  for  this 
forego  their  purpose.    So  soon   as    they  approached 


OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND  GRANTORTO        267 

so  near  to  the  shore  that  they  could  see  the  bottom 
beneath  the  waves,  Talus  leapt  from  the  ship  into 
the  sea.  The  enemy  sought  to  overwhelm  him 
with  stones  and  darts,  but  he  heeded  them  not  at 
all.  Wading  through  the  waves  he  came  to  the 
shore,  and  once  having  put  his  foot  upon  the  land, 
chased  all  the  multitude  away,  even  as  an  eagle 
chases  a  flock  of  doves.  The  way  being  thus  made 
clear,  for  there  was  now  no  one  to  hinder  them.  Sir 
Artegall  and  the  old  knight  landed,  and  made  their 
way  to  a  city  that  was  hard  by.  The  tyrant 
Grantorto,  being  made  aware  of  their  coming  by 
some  of  those  that  had  fled  from  Talus,  gathered  a 
host  of  men  and  came  against  them.  But  these 
also  did  Talus  discomfit  with  his  flail,  pursuing 
them  till  Artegall  himself  bade  him  hold  his  hand, 
for  he  would  settle  the  quarrel  in  more  orderly 
fashion.  Therefore  he  called  a  herald  and  bade 
him  take  a  message  to  King  Grantorto  to  this 
purport : 

"I  came  not  hither  to  fight  against  your  people, 
but  to  maintain  the  cause  of  the  Lady  Irene  against 
you  in  single  combat.  Do  you  therefore  call  your 
people  back  that  they  may  suffer  no  further  damage, 
but  fix  a  time  and  place  for  us  two  to  fight  together 
in  the  cause  of  the  Lady  Irene." 

That  night  he  pitched  his  tent  outside  the  city, 
and  would  suffer  none  to  come  near  him;  only  Sir 
Sergis  kept  him  company,  and  gave  such  services 
as  were  needful.  Now  the  Lady  Irene  had  not 
heard  of  the  coming  of  Sir  Artegall,  and  this  being 


268        OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND   GRANTORTO 

the  day  on  which,  lacking  a  champion  who  should 
defend  her  cause,  it  was  appointed  for  her  to  die, 
she  arrayed  herself  in  squalid  garments,  fit  for  such 
occasion,  and  prepared  herself  for  her  doom.  But 
her  mood  was  changed  to  joy  when,  coming  to  the 
appointed  place,  she  found  Sir  Artegall  ready  to  do 
battle  for  her. 

And  now,  the  lists  having  been  made  ready,  ^ 
Grantorto  came  forth  prepared  for  battle.  He  was 
clad  in  armour  of  iron,  with  a  steel  cap,  rusty  brown 
in  colour,  on  his  head,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a 
huge  pole-axe.  He  was  of  mighty  stature,  standing 
up  as  a  giant  among  other  men,  and  hideous  of 
aspect.  Very  expert  in  arms  was  he,  and  of  great 
strength;  no  man  had  ever  stood  against  him  in 
fight  and  held  his  own. 

Then  the  trumpets  sounded  and  the  two  met. 
Fast  and  furiously  did  Grantorto  rain  his  blows 
upon  his  adversary.  This  was  his  manner  of 
fighting,  to  wit,  to  overbear  his  foe  by  the  fierceness 
of  his  attack,  giving  him  no  respite  or  breathing- 
time.  But  of  this  Sir  x\rtegall  was  well  aware,  and 
bore  himself  accordingly.  It  was  as  when  a  sailor 
sees  a  storm  approaching  and  strikes  his  sails  and 
loosens  his  main-sheet,  So  did  Sir  Artegall  stoop 
his  head,  shunning  the  great  shower  of  blows. 
Small  shame  it  is  to  stoop  if  a  man  shall  thereafter 
raise  his  head  the  higher.  For  a  time,  indeed,  it 
might  seem  that  the  tyrant  would  prevail,  so  heavy 
was  the  shower  of  blows  that  he  poured  upon  him, 
and  so  many  the  wounds  which  the  great  pole-axe 


OF  SIR  ARTEGALL  AND  GRANTORTO        269 

made  even  through  his  armour.  But  ere  long  the 
occasion  came  for  which  the  knight  had  waited. 
When  the  tyrant  raised  his  arm  high  to  strike  what 
should  be,  he  hoped,  a  mortal  blow.  Sir  Artegall 
smote  under  his  guard  and  drove  his  sword  deep 
into  his  flank,  so  that  the  blood  gushed  forth  in 
a  great  stream.  Meanwhile  the  blow  of  the  pole- 
axe  had  fallen,  and,  despite  the  shield  which  the 
knight  had  raised  to  defend  his  head,  had  bitten  so  deep 
that  the  giant  could  by  no  means  loose  it  again.  Then 
Sir  Artegall  let  go  his  shield,  and  struck  Grantor  to 
on  the  head  with  such  strength  that  he  brought 
him  to  the  ground,  and,  as  he  lay,  with  yet  another 
stroke  severed  his  head  from  his  body. 

Then  all  the  people,  glad  to  be  rid  of  the 
tyrant,  joyfully  hastened  to  pay  their  homage  to 
Queen  Irene.  So  she  was  established  on  her 
throne.  Sir  Artegall  tarried  awhile  to  order  all 
things  in  peace  and  justice.  Talus  helping  much  in 
the  seeking  out  and  punishment  of  offenders. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  THE  LADY  BRIANA 

AS  Sir  Artegall  was  returning  from  his  latest 
enterprise,  he  met  a  certain  Sir  Calidore,  who 
was  in  high  repute  among  the  knights  and  dames  of 
Fairyland  for  his  courtesy  and  honesty.  These 
two  had  been  friends  in  old  time,  and  now  were 
right  glad  to  meet. 

^^Hail,  noble  sir,"  said  Sir  Calidore,  "tell  me, 
I  pray  you,  how  you  have  prospered  in  your 
enterprise.'' 

And  when  the  other  had  unfolded  the  whole 
matter  in  order,  what  hindrances  he  had  encountered, 
and  what  success  he  had  achieved  in  the  end, 
"Happy  man,"  he  said,  "that  have  accomplished 
so  great  an  enterprise!  You  are  at  the  end  of 
your  labours,  but  I  am  but  beginning  mine,  nor  do 
I  know  where  to  begin;  the  way  is  all  untried.  I 
know  not  what  dangers  await  me,  nor  what  pro- 
vision I  must  make." 

"What,  then,  is  this  enterprise  of  yours?" 
said  Sir  Artegall. 

"I  pursue,"  answered  the  other,  "the  Blatant 
Beast,  a  monster  that,  having  been  nurtured  in  the 
regions  below,  has  now  come   forth  on   the  earth    to 

270 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIANA     271 

be  the  plague  and  bane  of  men.  My  task  is  to 
follow  him,  if  need  be,  all  over  the  world,  till  I  can 
destroy  him." 

"Such  a  creature  I  myself  saw,"  said  Sir  Arte- 
gall,  "after  that  I  left  the  Savage  Island.  It 
seemed  to  have  full  a  thousand  tongues,  and  with 
all  of  these  it  bayed  and  barked  at  me ;  I  heeded 
him  not,  and  this  seemed  to  move  him  to  still 
greater  rage." 

"Doubtless,"  answered  Sir  Calidore,  "that  is 
the  monster  which  I  follow." 

"Go  on  and  prosper,"  said  Sir  Artegall;  and  so 
they  parted  in  all  friendship  and  amity. 

After  Sir  Calidore  had  travelled  a  mile  or  so, 
he  came  upon  a  squire,  a  comely  youth  to  behold, 
whom  his  enemies  had  bound  to  a  tree.  The  same 
loudly  called  on  him  for  help,  which  he,  without 
waiting  to  ask  questions,  promptly  rendered.  When 
he  had  loosed  his  bonds  he  said:  "Tell  me,  unhappy 
man,  how  you  came  into  this  evil  plight;  who  was 
it  that  captured  you  and  bound  you  in  this  fashion?" 

"Sir  Knight,"  said  the  man,  "be  assured  that 
it  was  by  misfortune  only,  not  by  fault  committed, 
that  I  came  into  this  condition.  Not  far  from  this 
place  there  is  a  very  strong  castle,  where  they  keep 
this  evil  custom.  No  man  may  pass  along  the  road 
—  and  the  road  so  lies  that  none  may  pass  without 
leave  obtained  from  them  who  hold  the  castle  — 
without  payment  of  toll.  And  the  toll  is  this  —  from 
every  lady  her  hair,  and  from  every  knight  his 
beard." 


272    OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIANA 

"As  shameful  a  custom  as  ever  came  to  my 
ears!"  cried  Sir  Calidore,  "and  one  speedily  to  be 
overthrown !  But  tell  me  how  it  came  about,  and 
what  was  its  beginning?" 

"In  this  castle,"  the  squire  made  reply,  "there 
dwells  a  certain  lady,  Briana  by  name;  there  is  no 
one  on  earth  more  proud,  and  it  vexes  her  sorely 
that  she  loves  a  certain  Sir  Crudor,  and  that  he 
will  not  deign  to  return  love  for  love,  until  she 
shall  make  for  him  a  mantle  lined  with  the  hair  of 
ladies  and  the  beards  of  knights.  And  she  to  gain 
this  end  uses  the  castle,  having  for  her  minister  in 
the  matter  a  certain  Maleffort,  who,  indeed,  does 
her  will  in  the  most  cruel  fashion.  This  very  day, 
as  I  journeyed  by  the  road  with  the  lady  whom  I 
love,  this  Maleffort  made  an  assault  upon  us.  Me 
first  he  took  prisoner,  for  I  could  not  withstand 
him,  so  strong  was  he.  This  done,  he  pursued  the 
damsel,  binding  me  to  this  tree  until  he  should 
come  back.  But  whether  he  has  found  her  or  not, 
I  know  not." 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  they  heard  a  loud 
shriek  from  hard  by,  and  looking  to  the  place  saw 
the  knave  holding  a  lady  by  her  garments  and 
about  to  shear  the  tresses  from  her  head.  When 
Sir  Calidore  saw  this  he  was  greatly  moved  with 
wrath;  the  squire  he  left,  and  turned  to  pursue  the 
villain.  "Hold!"  he  cried,  "leave  that  evil  doing, 
and  turn  to  answer  me!" 

The  fellow,  trusting  in  his  strength,  which, 
indeed,     had     never      failed     him,     answered     him 


\0F  SIRjCALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIAN  A     273 

scornfully.  *'Who,''  said  he,  "are  you  that  defy 
I  me  in  this  fashion  ?  You  take  this  maiden's  part ; 
)  will  you  then  give  your  beard,  though  it  be  but 
little,  for  her  locks?  Nay,  nay,  you  may  not 
purchase  them  so  cheaply.'^  So  saying  he  ran  at 
I  Sir  Calidore  in  a  mighty  rage,  and  rained  upon 
I  him  a  great  shower  of  blows.  The  knight,  who 
was  well  skilled  in  arms,  held  back  awhile,  standing 
on  his  defence,  and  let  him  spend  his  strength. 
But  when  he  perceived  that  he  was  failing  some- 
what, then  he  began  to  press  him;  the  more  he 
gave  way  the  more  strongly  he  assailed  him.  At 
last  the  fellow  lost  heart,  and  turned  to  fly,  hoping 
to  gain  the  castle  and  find  shelter.  So  he  fled. 
Sir  Calidore  pursuing;  and  now  he  had  reached 
the  gate  and  cried  aloud  that  they  should  open  to 
him  without  delay.  This  indeed  they  who  were 
within,  seeing  in  what  extremity  he  was,  made 
haste  to  do,  but  even  as  he  stood  in  the  porch  Sir 
Calidore  dealt  him  a  mighty  blow  with  his  sword, 
and  cleft  his  head  from  the  crown  to  the  chin.  He 
fell  down  dead  where  he  stood,  and  when  they 
would  have  shut  the  gate,  they  could  not,  for  the 
carcase  blocked  the  way,  and  Sir  Calidore  entering 
in,  slew  the  porter  where  he  stood.  Then  all  who 
were  in  the  castle  set  at  him,  but  in  vain;  he  swept 
them  aside  full  easily,  as  an  ox,  standing  in  a 
meadow  on  a  summer  day,  sweeps  away  the  flies 
which  trouble  him.  So  he  passed  from  the  porch 
into  the  hall,  where  the  Lady  Briana  met  him,  and 
assailed  him  with  angry  words,  calling    him    villain 


274    OF  SIR  CALIDORE   AND   THE  LADY  BRIAN  A 

because  he  had  slain  her  steward,  and  was  now 
come  to  rob  her  of  her  possessions. 

^^Nay,  nay,  fair  lady,"  he  made  answer,  "I 
deserve  not  these  reproaches.  I  came  to  abate  an 
evil  custom  that  you  wot  of.  Such  things  do  dis- 
honour to  the  laws  of  courtesy.  I  pray  you,  there- 
fore, of  your  own  accord,  to  do  away  with  this  evil. 
Rather  show  kindness  and  hospitahty  to  all  such  as 
pass  by  this  way;  so  shall  you  gaiA  a  glory  that  is 
better  far  than  earthly  love.'* 

These  words  did  but  make  her  wrath  more 
strong.  *'Know,  sir,"  she  cried,  "that  I  disdain 
all  this  talk  of  kindness  and  courtesy,  and  defy 
you  to  the  death." 

"I  hold  it  no  shame,"  answered  Sir  Calidore, 
"to  take  defiance  from  a  lady;  but  were  there  one 
here  who  would  abide  the  trial  with  his  sword, 
gladly  would  I  prove  my  words  upon  him." 

Then  the  lady  in  great  haste  called  to  her  a 
dwarf  who  served  her,  and  taking  from  her  hand 
a  ring  of  gold,  gave  it  to  him,  saying:  "Take  this 
with  all  speed  to  Sir  Crudor;  and  tell  him  that 
there  is  a  knight  here  who  has  slain  my  steward 
and  done  much  damage  to  my  people;"  for  it  had 
been  agreed  between  them,  that  when  urgent  need 
should  arise  she  should  send  this  ring.  So  the 
dwarf  departed  with  the  ring,  and  travelled  all  that 
night.  Meanwhile  Sir  Calidore  abode  in  the  castle, 
the  lady  being  now  scornful,  now  angry,  and  he 
enduring  her  moods  with  all  patience  and  courtesy. 

The    next    day,    before    the    sun    rose,    came    the 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIAN  A     275 

dwarf,  bringing  a  message  from  Sir  Cruder  that  he 
would  come  to  her  help  before  he  had  broken  his 
fast,  and  would  deliver  to  her  the  enemy  ahve  or 
dead;  and  he  sent  his  helmet  as  a  true  token. 
Greatly  did  the  Lady  Briana  rejoice  to  have  such 
news,  and  behaved  herself  more  scornfully  than 
ever  to  Sir  Calidore.  He  took  no  heed  of  her 
ways,  rather  rejoicing  that  he  should  have  some- 
one with  whom  to  settle  this  quarrel.  So  he 
donned  his  arms,  and  waited  for  the  coming  of  Sir 
Crudor.  Nor  did  he  wait  long.  Right  soon  did 
he  espy  a  knight  riding  across  the  plain.  ^^This," 
said  he  to  himself,  "is  the  Lady  Briana's 
champion,''  and  without  staying  to  ask  of  any- 
one who  this  new-comer  might  be,  he  rode  forth 
to  meet  him.  The  two  came  together  in  the 
middle  of  the  plain  with  so  strong  a  shock  that 
both  were  rolled  upon  the  ground,  each  rider  with 
his  horse.  Sir  Calidore  rose  lightly  from  the 
ground,  while  his  adversary  still  lay  without  sense 
or  speech,  but  he  disdained  to  do  him  any  damage; 
it  would  ill  become  a  courteous  knight  to  strike 
a  sleeping  foe.  But  Briana,  where  she  stood  upon 
the  castle  walls,  thought  that  her  champion  was 
dead,  and  loudly  bemoaned  him,  and  made  as  if  she 
would  throw  herself  from  the  walls  to  the  earth. 

After  a  while  Sir  Crudor  raised  himself  from  the 
ground,  but  in  listless  fashion,  like  to  one  who  can 
scarcely  rouse  himself  from  sleep.  But  when  he 
saw  his  adversary,  his  spirit  returned  to  him  as 
before,   and   he  renewed   the  fight,   hoping    that    he 


276     OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIANA 

would  fare  better  on  foot  than  he  had  fared  on 
horseback.  Long  did  they  fight,  deahng  each  to 
other  fearful  blows.  Not  once,  so  fierce  were  they, 
did  they  pause  to  take  rest.  At  the  last,  when,  as 
if  by  common  consent,  both  lifted  their  swords  high 
in  the  air  to  deal  what  might  be  a  final  blow,  and 
so  finish  the  fight,  either  for  this  champion  or  for 
that.  Sir  Calidore,  being  more  nimble  and  quicker 
of  sight  than  his  adversary,  was  beforehand  with 
him,  and  struck  him  with  so  sharp  a  blow  upon  his 
helmet  that  he  brought  him  to  his  knee.  Nor  did 
he  fail  to  follow  up  his  advantage,  but  redoubling 
the  fierceness  of  his  strokes,  brought  him  altogether 
to  the  ground.  As  he  lay  there  he  would  have 
unlaced  his  helmet,  and  given  him  his  death-blow, 
but  the  vanquished  man  begged  for  mercy.  Then 
Sir  Calidore,  mastering  his  anger,  such  was  his 
courtesy,  said:  ^^ Mercy  I  grant  with  all  good- 
will. Do  you  learn  not  to  treat  strangers  with  such 
rudeness.  This  ill  befits  a  knight,  for  his  first  duty 
is  to  conquer  himself.  And  now  I  give  you  your 
life  on  these  conditions,  that  you  help  to  the  best  of 
your  power  all  wandering  knights,  and  also  give  aid 
as  you  can  to  all  ladies  in  need.'* 

These  things  the  knight,  being  thus  delivered 
beyond  all  hope  from  the  fear  of  death,  promised 
to  do,  and  swore  fealty  to  Sir  Calidore  as  being  his 
liege  lord  for  all  his  life.  All  this  time  the  Lady 
Briana  was  looking  in  great  dismay  and  trouble  of 
mind;  and  now  Sir  Calidore,  bidding  her  to 
approach,    told    all   that   had    been   agreed    between 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   THE  LADY  BRIAN  A     277 

him  and  Sir  Cruder.  She  was  overcome  by  so 
great  a  courtesy,  and  thanked  him  with  all  her 
heart,  for  indeed  it  was  in  her  inmost  heart  that  she 
was  moved.  She  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
declared  herself  to  be  wholly  bound  to  him.  After 
this  they  all  betook  themselves  to  the  castle,  where 
the  lady  entertained  them  in  most  joyous  fashion. 

The  banquet  ended,  she  said:  "Sir  Calidore,  I 
do  bestow  this  castle  upon  you  freely  and  without 
price,  by  way  of  token  of  how  great  is  my  debt  to 
you." 

Then  answered  Sir  Calidore:  "Lady,  I  thank 
you  for  this  gift;  but  I  am  not  minded  to  take  any 
hire  or  reward  for  any  good  deed  that  it  may  be 
given  me  to  do."  So  he  gave  the  castle  to  the 
squire,  that  he  and  the  damsel  might  dwell  there. 
And  when  he  had  tarried  there  certain  days,  and 
was  now  made  whole  of  his  wounds,  he  went  forth 
again  on  his  quest. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

OF    THE   VALOUR    OF    TRISTRAM 

AS  Sir  Calidore  went  on  his  way  he  saw  a  young 
man  of  great  stature  [fighting  on  foot  with  a 
knight  on  horseback.  Not  far  from  these  two  stood 
a  lady,  clad  in  very  poor  array.  Sir  Calidore  would 
have  inquired  of  her  the  cause  of  the  strife,  having 
it  in  his  mind  to  part  the  two  combatants,  if  this 
might  be  done.  But  before  he  could  come  at  the 
place,  the  youth  had  slain  the  knight,  a  thing  at  4 
which  he  wondered  not  a  little.  This  same  youth 
was  very  goodly  to  look  at,  slender  in  shape,  and  of 
but  seventeen  years  or  so,  as  it  seemed,  but  tall  and 
fair  of  face.  He  was  clad  in  a  woodman's  jacket  of 
Lincoln  green,  embroidered  with  silver,  with  a 
huntsman's  horn  hanging  by  his  side.  He  had  a 
dart  in  his  right  hand,  and  in  his  left  a  boar-spear. 

"What    means    this?"    said    Sir  Calidore.      "You, 
who   are   no   knight,    have   slain   a    knight,    a   thing,  i 
plainly  contrary  to  the  law  of  arms."  | 

"I  would  not  wish,"  answered  the  youth,  "to 
break  the  law  of  arms;  yet  would  I  break  it  again, 
sooner  than  suffer  such  wrong  as  I  have  of  this  man, 
so  long  as  I  have  two  hands  wherewith  to  defend 
myself.  The  quarrel  with  him  was  not  of  my  seeking, 
as  this  lady  can  testify." 

278 


OF   THE   VALOUR  OF   TRISTRAM  279 

"Tell    me    therefore,"    said    Sir    Calidore,    ''how 
things  fell  out." 

"Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  lad,  "I  was  hunting 
in  the  wood,  as  I  am  wont  to  do  for  lack  of  graver 
employment,  for  which  my  years  are  not  fit,  when 
I  saw  this  knight,  who  lies  dead  yonder,  passing 
over  the  plain,  with  this  lady  in  his  company.  He 
was  on  horseback,  but  she  followed  on  foot,  and 
when  she  lagged  behind,  as  she  must  needs  do,  so 
rough  was  the  ground,  then  he  smote  her  with  the 
butt  of  his  spear,  taking  no  heed  of  her  tears  and 
prayers.  This  sight  I  saw  with  no  small  indig- 
nation, and  being  moved  with  wrath  said:  'Surely, 
Sir  Knight,  you  should  rather  take  up  this  lady  to 
ride  behind  you  than  make  her  travel  so  uneasily.' 
To  this  he  answered  in  angry  words,  bidding  me 
hold  my  peace,  nor  meddle  with  things  that  con- 
cerned me  not.  'Or,'  said  he,  'I  will  whip  you  as 
a  malapert  boy  should  be  whipped!'  So  after 
some  angry  talk,  he  struck  me  twice  with  his  spear, 
and  I  threw  at  him  a  dart,  fellow  of  this  which  you 
see  here  in  my  hand;  nor  did  I  throw  it  in  vain, 
for  it  struck  him  beneath  the  heart  so  hard  that 
presently  he  died." 

Sir  Calidore  was  not  a  Htde  pleased  with  his 
manner  of  speech,  so  bold  and  honest  was  it,  and 
he  admired  also  the  sturdiness  of  the  stroke  which 
had  broken  to  such  effect  the  coat  of  mail.  And 
when,  after  question  put  to  the  lady,  he  found  that 
it  was  even  as  the  lad  had  told,  he  said:  "I  do  not 
condemn   this   youth,    but   rather   hold   him   free   of 


28o  OF  THE   VALOUR  OF   TRISTRAM 

blame.  'Tis  the  duty  of  knights,  and  indeed  of  all 
men,  to  bear  themselves  kindly  and  courteously  to 
women,  and  he  did  well  to  maintain  this  good 
custom.  But  now  I  would  have  you  tell  me,  lady, 
if  you  will,  how  it  came  about  that  the  man  whom 
he  slew  treated  you  in  so  unseemly  a  fashion  ?'' 

*^Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  lady,  "I  am  loath 
to  bring  accusations  against  the  dead ;  yet  I  must 
needs  declare  the  truth.  This  day,  as  this  knight 
and  I  were  passing  on  our  way,  we  came  upon  a 
glade  in  the  wood  where  there  sat  two  lovers,  a 
comely  knight  and  a  fair  lady.  The  knight  my 
companion  being  taken  with  the  lady's  beauty,  bade 
me  dismount.  And  when  I  was  unwilling  to  do  so, 
thrust  me  out  of  my  seat  with  violence.  Which 
when  he  had  done,  he  said  to  the  other:  'Now, 
yield  me  up  that  dame ! '  And  when  the  other  — 
though,  indeed,  he  was  not  prepared  for  battle  — 
refused,  then  he  wounded  him  sorely  with  his  spear. 
This  he  did,  though  the  other  had  proffered  to  do  , 
battle  with  him,  if  only  he  would  appoint  a  day  I 
when  they  might  try  their  strength  on  equal  terms. 
Meanwhile  the  lady  had  fled  into  the  wood,  and  had 
hidden  herself  to  such  good  purpose,  that  when  my 
knight  sought  to  find  her,  he  spent  all  his  labour 
in  vain.  At  this  baulk  he  was  greatly  enraged.  He 
would  not  set  me  on  his  horse  again,  but  constrained 
me  to  follow  on  foot,  smiting  me  with  his  spear  if 
ever  I  lagged  behind,  and  taking  no  heed  of  my 
tears  and  complaining.  So  we  went  on  till  we  fell 
in  with  this  young  man,  and  he,  being  moved  with 


OF  THE   VALOUR  OF  TRISTRAM  281 

pity  at  my  evil  plight,  rebuked  the  knight.  How 
the  matter  ended  you  have  seen  for  yourself." 

"This  boor  has  received  his  due,"  said  Calidore. 
Then  turning  to  the  lad,  he  said:  *^Tell  me  now 
who  you  are,  and  how  you  came  to  be  in  this  place. 
Never  did  I  see  greater  promise  in  anyone,  and  I 
would  help  you  to  bring  it  to  as  good  fulfilment  as 
may  be." 

"Sir  Knight,"  the  youth  made  answer,  "it  may 
be  that  the  revealing  of  my  name  and  lineage  may 
be  to  my  hurt,  for  of  such  danger  I  have  been 
warned;  nevertheless,  so  courteously  have  you 
borne  yourself  to  me,  that  I  will  tell  you  the  whole 
truth.  I  am  a  Briton,  Tristram  by  name,  son  of 
good  King  Meliogras,  who  once  reigned  in  the  land 
of  Cornwall.  He  dying  while  I  was  yet  of  tender 
years,  his  brother  took  the  kingdom.  Thereupon 
my  mother,  Queen  Eniiline,  conceiving  me  to  be  in 
danger  from  this  same  uncle,  thought  it  best  to  send 
me  into  some  foreign  land,  where  I  should  not  be 
within  his  reach,  if  the  thought  of  doing  me  a 
mischief  should  arise  in  his  heart.  So,  according 
to  the  counsel  of  a  wise  man  of  whom  she  inquired 
in  her  perplexity,  she  sent  me  from  the  land  of 
Lyonesse,  where  I  was  born,  to  the  land  of  Fairy, 
where,  no  one  knowing  who  or  what  I  was,  none 
would  seek  to  do  me  wrong.  I  was  then  ten  years 
of  age,  and  I  have  abode  in  this  land  ever  since, 
not  wasting  my  days  in  vain  delights,  but  perfecting 
myself  in  all  the  arts  of  hunting.  But  now  it  is 
time,   I  hold,   to  look  to  higher  things.    Therefore, 


282  OF   THE   VALOUR   OF   TRISTRAM 

this  being  such  an  occasion  as  might  not  again 
befall,  I  would  entreat  of  you  that  you  advance  me, 
unworthy  though  I  be,  to  a  squire's  degree,  so  that 
I  may  duly  learn  and  practise  all  the  use  of  arms. 
And  for  this  I  have  this  beginning,  to  wit,  the  arms 
of  this  knight,  whom  I  slew  in  fair  encounter." 

Sir  Calidore  answered,  "Fair  child,  I  would  not  by 
any  mxans  baulk  this  your  honourable  desire  to  follow 
the  profession  of  arms;  only  I  could  wish  that  I 
could  set  you  to  some  service  that  should  be  worthy 
of  you.  Kneel  therefore  and  swear  that  you  will  be 
faithful  to  any  knight  whom  you  shall  serve  as  squire, 
and  be  true  to  all  ladies,  and  never  draw  back  from 
fear  of  any  deed  that  it  may  be  fitting  for  you  to  do." 
So  Tristram  knelt  down  upon  his  knees,  and  took 
his  oath  to  do  according  to  these  words. 

Thereupon  Sir  Calidore  dubbed  him  a  squire, 
and  he  bloomed  forth  straightway  in  all  joy  and 
gladness,  even  as  a  bud  opens  into  a  flower.  But 
when  Tristram  besought  him  that  he  might  go  with 
him  on  his  present  adventure,  vowing  that  he  would 
follow  him  to  the  death,  Sir  Calidore  answered :"  I 
should  be  right  glad,  most  courteous  squire,  to  have 
you  with  me,  so  that  I  might  see  the  valour  which 
you  have  show  itself  in  honourable  achievement, 
but  this  may  not  be.  I  am  bound  by  vow  to  my 
sovereign,  who  set  me  this  task  to  accomplish,  that 
I  would  not  take  anyone  to  aid  me.  For  this  reason 
I  may  not  grant  your  request.  But  now,  seeing  that 
this  lady  is  left  desolate,  and  is  in  need  of  safe  convoy, 
you  will  do  well  to  succour  her  in  this  her  need." 


OF  THE   VALOUR  OF   TRISTRAM  283 

This  service  the  youth  gladly  undertook,  and 
Sir  Calidore,  taking  leave  of  him  and  the  dame  in 
courteous  fashion,  set  forth  again  on  his  quest.  He 
had  not  travelled  far  before  he  came  to  the  place 
where  the  knight  who  had  been  so  discourteously 
treated  by  him  whom  Tristram  had  slain,  lay  in  a 
most  sorrowful  plight.  He  was  bleeding  from  many 
wounds,  so  that  all  the  earth  about  him  was  red; 
and  the  lady  sat  by  him  weeping,  and  yet  doing  all 
that  she  could  with  careful  hands  to  dress  his 
wounds  and  ease  his  pain.  Sir  Calidore,  when  he 
saw  this  sorry  sight,  was  well-nigh  moved  to  tears; 
from  which,  scarce  refraining  himself,  he  said:  "Tell 
me,  sad  lady,  if  your  grief  will  suffer  you,  who  it  was 
that  with  cruel  hand  wrought  such  mischief  to  a 
knight  unarmed,  for  surely,  if  I  may  but  come  near 
him,  I  will  avenge  this  wrong  upon  him." 

The  lady  answered:  "Fair  sir,  this  knight 
whom  you  see_  here  and  I  sat  talking  in  lover's 
fashion,  and  tl{is'man  charged  him,  unarmed  as  he 
was,  and  dealt  him  these  deadly  wounds.  And  if 
you  would  know  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  he 
was  of  tall  stature,  clad  in  gilded  armour,  crossed 
with  a  band  of  blue,  and  for  device  on  his  shield  he 
had  a  lady  rowed  in  a  summer  barge  across  rough 


waves." 


When  Sir  Calidore  heard  this,  he  was  assured 
that  this  indeed  was  the  knight  whom  Tristram  had 
slain,  and  he  said:  "Lady,  take  to  yourself  this 
comfort,  that  he  who  so  foully  wronged  your  knight 
lies  now  in  yet  more  evil  case.    I  saw  him  with  my 


284  OF   THE    VALOUR  OF   TRISTRAM 

own  eyes  lying  dead  upon  the  earth,  a  just  recom- 
pense for  the  foul  wrong  that  he  did  to  your  fair 
knight.  And  now  bethink  you  what  we  may  best 
do  for  this  wounded  man,  how  you  may  best  convey 
him  hence,  and  to  what  refuge." 

She  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy  and  friendly 
care,  yet  knew  not  what  to  say,  for  being  a  stranger 
in  that  country  she  could  not  think  of  a  fitting 
place,  nor  could  she  ask  him  to  carry  the  wounded 
man.  This  he  did  not  fail  to  perceive,  and  said: 
**Fair  lady,  think  not  that  I  deem  it  a  disgrace  to 
carry  this  burden;  gladly  will  I  help  you."  Taking 
therefore  his  shield,  and  first  pouring  the  healing 
balm,  which  he  always  carried  with  him  for  such 
needs,  into  the  knight's  wounds,  he  put  him  thereon, 
and  bare  him,  the  lady  helping,  to  a  castle  that  was 
hard  by.  And  it  so  chanced  that  the  lord  of  this 
castle  was  father  to  the  wounded  knight,  a  man  far 
advanced  in  years,  who  had  been  a  famous  man-at- 
arms  in  the  days  gone  by,  and  was  of  most  courteous 
and  hospitable  temper.  Aldus  was  his  name,  and  his 
son's  name  was  Aladine.  Great  was  his  grief  when 
he  saw  his  dear  son  brought  home  in  such  a  plight. 

*'Dear  boy,"  he  cried,  "and  is  the  pleasure  with 
which  I  thought  to  welcome  you  to  this  your  home 
turned  to  such  sorrow!"  Nevertheless  he  put  a 
brave  constraint  upon  his  sorrow,  and  turned  him- 
self to  entertain  his  guests  with  all  hospitality.  To 
this  welcome  Sir  Calidore  made  a  courteous  return, 
but  the  lady,  whose  name  was  Priscilla,  could  not 
by  any  means  be  cheered.    She  was  daughter  to  a 


OF   THE    VALOUR   OF   TRISTRAM  285 

noble  lord  that  dwelt  hard  by,  and  had  seen  and 
loved  this  same  Aladine,  though  he  was  of  meaner 
birth  and  smaller  estate;  and  now  she  was  much 
troubled,  thinking  both  of  her  lover's  perilous  state 
and  of  how  her  father  would  take  the  matter.  So, 
while  Sir  Aldus  entertained  Sir  Calidore,  she  sat 
and  tended  the  wounded  man,  and  at  the  last,  with 
infinite  pains,  brought  him  out  of  the  swoon  in 
which  he  lay,  and  restored  him  to  himself. 

The  next  day,  when  Sir  CaHdore  came  to  see 
how  the  wounded  man  was  faring,  he  found  him  not 
a  little  bettered  in  state  of  body,  but  anxious  in 
mind,  especially  for  his  lady's  sake,  because  of  the 
displeasure  which  her  father  might  have  concerning 
her  love  for  him.  Thereupon  he  told  to  Sir  Cali- 
dore the  whole  story  of  his  love,  and  besought  his 
help,  which  he,  much  moved  by  pity  for  their 
sorrowful  case,  gladly  promised  that  he  would  give. 
This  promise  he  most  fully  did  perform.  First  he 
went  to  where  the  carcase  of  that  misbehaved  knight 
lay  upon  the  ground,  and  shore  the  head  from  the 
body.  This  he  took  in  his  hand,  and  brought  the 
lady  to  her  father's  house.  He,  indeed,  was  greatly 
troubled  to  think  what  had  befallen  his  child,  and 
was  much  rejoiced  to  see  her  again  safe  and  sound. 

Then  said  Sir  Calidore:  ''Your  daughter  was 
like  to  suffer  wrong  from  an  evil  knight;  but  he 
suffered  for  his  evil  intent  —  lo  !  here  you  see  his  head." 

Then  did  the  noble  lord  most  gladly  receive  her 
again  to  her  home,  and  Sir  Calidore,  after  a  short 
sojourn,  departed  again  upon  his  quest. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

SIR   CALEPINE   AND    THE    LADY    SERENA 

AS  Sir  Calidore  passed  on  his  way  he  came  upon 
two  lovers,  Sir  Calepine  and  the  Lady  Serena, 
as  they  sat  talking  together.  They  were  abashed 
to  see  him,  and  he,  being  the  very  soul  of  courtesy, 
made  most  humble  apology  for  so  disturbing  them. 
Then  said  Sir  Calepine:  "Sit  down  and  rest 
awhile,  and  let  us  talk  together;"  to  which  Sir 
Calidore  courteously  assented.  While  they  talked, 
the  Lady  Serena,  tempted  by  the  fairness  of  the 
place,  and  seeking  to  make  a  garland  of  flowers, 
of  which  there  was  great  store,  wandered  away. 

Thereupon  the  Blatant  Beast,  the  same  monster 
which  Sir  Calidore  had  it  in  charge  to  seek,  rushed 
out  of  a  wood  that  was  hard  by,  caught  her  in  his 
mouth,  and  carried  her  away.  She  cried  aloud  to 
the  two  knights  for  help,  and  they,  hearing  her 
voice,  started  up  to  succour  her.  Sir  Calidore, 
being  the  more  swift  of  foot  of  the  two,  overtook 
the  beast  before  it  had  gone  far.  Thereupon  it 
cast  down  the  lady  out  of  its  mouth  and  fled.  Nor 
did  Sir  Cahdore  delay  to  pursue  the  beast.  "The 
lady,"  said  he  to  himself,  "will  be  cared  for  by  her 
own  knight;   but  as  for  me,  I  must  not  abandon  my 

286 


SIR  CALEPINE  AND   THE  LADY  SERENA     287 

quest."  How  he  fared  in  the  pursuit  will  be  told 
hereafter;  but  we  will  follow  in  the  meanwhile  the 
fortunes  of  the  two  lovers. 

Sir  Calepine  found  the  lady  in  very  sad  plight, 
being  sorely  wounded  on  both  sides  by  the  mon- 
ster's teeth,  so  that  she  lay  upon  the  ground  in  a 
swoon,  as  if  she  were  dead.  With  much  ado  he 
brought  her  back  to  Hfe,  and,  setting  her  on  his 
horse,  held  her  up  with  his  arms,  till  they  could 
find  some  place  where  she  might  rest  and  be  healed 
of  her  wounds.  So  they  journeyed  till  they  came 
to  a  river,  on  the  other  side  of  which  stood  a  fair 
castle,  in  which  he  hoped  that  he  might  find  shelter. 
But  when  he  came  to  the  water's  edge  he  found 
that  the  stream  could  scarce  be  forded  on  foot. 
While  he  doubted  what  it  were  best  to  do,  there 
came  a  knight  to  the  river's  side,  with  a  lady  riding 
on  a  palfrey  by  his  side.  Thereupon  Sir  Calepine, 
with  all  due  courtesy,  made  a  request  of  the  new- 
comer, that  he  would  take  this  wounded  lady  to  the 
other  side. 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  other;  "if  you  have  no 
horse  of  your  own  you  shall  have  no  help  of  mine. 
Go  on  foot,  and  let  this  lady  do  the  same.  Or,  if 
you  like  it  better,  carry  her  on  your  back,  and  so 
prove  yourself  a  man." 

The  lady  on  the  palfrey  was  much  displeased  at 
the  rudeness  of  this  speech,  and,  pitying  the  plight 
of  Serena,  would  have  helped  her  with  her  own 
palfrey.  For  this  courtesy  Sir  Calepine  thanked 
her,  but,  being  very  angry  with  the  knight,  would 


(288    SIR  CALEPINE  AND   THE  LADY  SERENA 

have  none  of  her  help.  Stepping  down,  therefore, 
into  the  river,  he  held  himself  up  against  the  stream 
with  his  spear  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
hand  stayed  the  lady  on  his  horse.  All  the  while 
the  discourteous  knight  stood  on  the  bank  jeering 
and  laughing. 

When  Sir  Calepine  had  won  in  safety  to  the 
farther  bank,  he  called  aloud  to  the  other,  saying, 
"Unknightly  man,  disgrace  to  all  who  bear  arms, 
I  defy  you.  Fight  if  you  dare,  or  never  he  bold  to 
bear  arms  again."  But  the  fellow  took  no  heed  of 
this  challenge,  but  laughed  aloud,  as  if  to  say  that 
his  adversary  was  of  so  mean  estate  that  a  man  of 
honour  need  not  trouble  to  regard  his  words.  So, 
crossing  the  stream,  he  came  to  the  fair  house  on 
the  farther  bank,  for  indeed  this  was  his  house. 

To  this  same  house  came  Sir  Calepine,  for 
indeed  there  was  no  other  house  where  he  could 
find  shelter,  and  asked  admittance  for  the  lady's 
sake.  But  the  porter  said:  "We  find  no  lodging 
here  for  any  wandering  knight,  unless  he  is  willing 
first  to  fight  with  the  master  of  the  house." 

"And  who  is  he?"  said  Sir  Calepine. 

"His  name,"  answered  the  porter,  "is  Sir  Tur- 
pin ;  a  mighty  man  and  a  great  fighter ;  he  bears 
a  great  grudge  against  all  wandering  knights,  by 
reason  of  some  wrong  that  was  done  him  by  such 
a  knight  in  time  past." 

Then  said  Sir  Calepine:  "Go  your  way  to  your 
master,  and  tell  him  that  a  wandering  knight  craves 
shelter  for  a  wounded  lady,  and  that  he  is  willing 


SIR  CALEPINE  AND  THE  LADY  SERENA     289 

to  fight,  but  craves  that  Sir  Turpin  will,  of  his 
courtesy,  postpone  this  issue  till  the  day  following." 
To  this  request  no  answer  other  than  had  first  been 
delivered  was  made,  and  Sir  Calepine  perforce 
turned  away,  not  knowing  what  else  he  could  do. 
All  that  night  he  sheltered  the  lady  under  a  bush 
as  best  he  could.  The  next  day  he  went  on  his 
way,  hoping  to  find  some  more  hospitable  place, 
and  walking  as  before  by  the  lady's  side. 

But  he  was  not  suffered  to  proceed  far;  for  Sir 
Turpin,  filled  with  hatred  and  mahce,  pursued  after 
him  and  overtook  him,  and  having  him  at  a  dis- 
advantage, for  he  had  the  charge  of  the  lady  on 
his  hands,  went  near  to  slaying  him.  Slain  without 
doubt  he  had  been,  but  for  help  that  came  to  him 
beyond  all  hope.  A  savage  man,  who  dwelt  in  the 
wood,  hearing  the  lady's  cry,  hastened  to  discover 
what  had  befallen.  He  was  as  a  brute  beast,  and 
had  never  before  felt  in  his  breast  any  touch  of 
pity;  but  now,  seeing  the  knight  so  hardly  pressed, 
was  moved  to  help  him.  Neither  armour  had  he 
nor  arms,  being  wont  to  strike  with  such  things  as 
came  to  his  hand,  and  for  protection  he  had  a 
magic  charm,  which  from  his  birth  had  made  him 
proof  against  all  wounds.  He  took  no  thought 
how  he  could  best  attack  Sir  Turpin,  but  ran  at 
him  with  great  fury.  The  knight  struck  him  full 
upon  the  breast  with  his  spear,  but  made  no  wound. 
And  when  the  wild  man's  fury  grew  greater  and 
greater,  and  he  caught  hold  of  the  knight's  shield, 
and   the   knight   on   the   other   hand   perceived    that 


290    SIR  CALEPINE  AND   THE  LADY  SERENA 

neither  spear  nor  sword  availed  anything  against 
him,  then  Sir  Turpin  left  his  shield  and  his  spear 
also  and  fled.  Nor  had  he  then  escaped  but  for  the 
fleetness  of  his  steed,  for  the  savage  also  was  the 
fastest  of  runners.  So  near  did  he  come  that  Sir 
Turpin  shrieked  aloud  for  fear,  a  most  unbecoming 
thing  for  a  knight  to  do;  nevertheless,  by  the  speed 
of  his  horse  he  escaped  to  his  castle. 

The  savage  man,  therefore,  seeing  his  labour  of 
pursuit  to  be  vain,  returned  to  the  place  where  he 
had  left  the  knight  and  the  lady.  Both  he  found 
in  very  evil  case,  and  tended  them  with  all  care, 
staunching  the  bleeding  of  their  wounds  with  juices 
of  heahng  herbs  which  he  found  in  the  woods. 
Also  he  took  them  to  a  dwelling  which  he  had  in 
the  wood  hard  by,  and  gave  them  such  entertain- 
.  ment  as  he  could,  beds  of  leaves  on  which  to  sleep, 
and  wild  fruits  of  the  wood  for  food,  for  the  savage 
man  never  would  slay  any  living  creature. 

But  now  there  befell  these  lovers  a  great  mishap. 

Sir  Calepine,  being  now  whole  of  his  wounds,  was 

wandering  in  the  wood,  when  he  heard   the  cry  of 

an    infant   which    a    bear    was    carrying    off  in    his 

mouth.     This   indeed   he   rescued,  but   in   the   chase 

J,        went  so  far  that  he  wholly  lost  his  way,  and  could 

^d^  not  by  any  means  return  to  the  place  where  he  had 

left   the   Lady  Serena.     Long   did   she   wait   for   his 

coming,  being  in  great  doubt  and  trouble  as  to  what 

had    befallen    him,  and    when,  after    many    days,  he 

was   still    absent,  she   purposed    to   leave   the   abode 

'  of  the  Savage  Man.    He  would  not  suffer  her  to 


SIR  CALEPINE  AND   THE  LADY  SERENA     291 

go  alone,  but  clad  himself  in  Sir  Calepine's  armour 
—  his  sword  the  knight  had  put  in  some  secret 
place  —  and  so  set  forth;  nor,  indeed,  was  ever  a 
stranger  pair  seen  in  company. 

They  had  not  journeyed  far  before,  by  great 
good  fortune,  they  met  Prince  Arthur.  To  him 
Serena  told  all  that  had  befallen  her  and  Sir  Cale- 
pine,  the  misdeeds  of  Sir  Turpin,  and  the  wander- 
ing away  of  the  knight.  And  when  Prince  Arthur 
had  heard  her  tale,  he  said:  "You  I  will  bestow 
with  a  good  and  wise  man,  a  hermit,  who  dwells 
in  these  parts.  My  squire  also,  who  has  suffered 
no  Httle  damage,  I  will  leave;  as  for  this  dis- 
courteous knight  who  calls  himself  Turpin,  I  will 
punish  him  forthwith." 

And  this  he  did  in  most  effective  fashion,  slay- 
ing him  and  hanging  him  after  by  the  heels  upon 
a  tree,  that  others  might  take  warning  by  his 
punishment. 

And  now  shall  be  told  what  befell  the  Lady 
Serena,  and  how  it  came  to  pass  that  she  and  her 
lover  were  found  one  of  another.  It  chanced  one 
day  as  she  walked  in  the  wood  with  Prince  Arthur's 
squire  that  he  was  set  upon  by  two  knaves,  and 
she,  doubting  to  what  end  the  battle  might  come, 
fled  away  on  her  feet,  and,  losing  her  way,  could 
not  by  any  means  return  to  the  hermit's  abode. 
Being  wearied  out  with  long  wandering,  she  lay 
down  in  the  wood  to  sleep. 

Now  there  dwelt  in  those  parts  a  savage  tribe 
which  was  wont  to  live  by  robbery.    They  did  not 


292     SIR  CALEPINE  AND   THE  LADY  SERENA 

till  the  ground,  nor  breed  cattle,  nor  deal  in  mer- 
chandise, but  they  lived  by  spoiling  of  their  neigh- 
bours' goods.  And  they  had  this  evil  custom  also, 
that  they  lived  on  the  flesh  of  men,  devouring  all 
strangers  whom  they  might  chance  to  find  within 
their  borders.  Some  of  these  savages,  as  they 
wandered  in  the  forest,  chanced  to  see  Serena,  as 
she  lay  asleep.  Great  was  their  joy  to  see  her, 
not  for  her  beauty,  but  because  she  would  make, 
they  thought,  so  goodly  a  meal.  First  they  debated 
whether  they  should  wake  her  or  let  her  sleep. 
And  it  seemed  to  them  better  that  she  should  sleep 
her  fill.  "She  will  be  the  better,"  they  said,  ''for 
her  sleep."  Also  they  agreed  together  that  she 
should  be  offered  in  sacrifice  to  their  god.  ''He," 
said  they,  "shall  have  her  blood,  and  we,  after  the 
sacrifice,  will  have  a  goodly  feast  on  her  flesh." 
This  they  set  about  to  do,  and  having  built  an 
altar,  they  stripped  her  of  her  ornaments  and  robes 
and  laid  her  upon  it;  and  the  priest  stood  ready 
to  slay  her  with  a  knife  of  stone  in  his  hand,  when 
their  evil  purpose  was  baulked. 

Sir  Calepine,  by  some  happy  chance,  had  come 
to  this  same  grove,  which  they  had  fixed  for  the 
place  of  the  sacrifice,  and  for  the  feast  which  was  to 
come  after.  He  was  still  searching  for  Serena,  and 
having  travelled  far  that  day,  had  laid  himself  down 
to  sleep.  And  now,  there  being  a  great  jnoise  of 
bagpipes  and  horns,  for  with  these  they  celebrated 
the  solemnity,  he  started  up;  and,  looking  through 
the   branches   that   were   about  him,   saw   the   altar 


SIR  CALEPINE  AND    THE  LADY  SERENA     293 

set,  and  the  woman  lying  on  it,  and  the  priest, 
stretching  out  his  hand  to  slay  her.  Who  she  was 
he  knew  not,  but  ran  to  her  help,  as  was  a  knight's 
duty,  and  the  priest  he  slew,  and  not  a  few  of  the 
savages  that  were  gathered  round,  and  the  rest  fled 
like  to  doves  that  fly  before  a  hawk.  So  did  Sir 
Calepine  recover  the  lady  of  his  love. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  PASTORELLA 

NOW  must  be  told  what  befell  Sir  Calidore  in 
his  quest.  For  many  days  he  pursued  un- 
ceasingly the  Blatant  Beast.  Over  hills  and  through 
valleys,  through  forests  and  across  plains,  he  made 
his  way,  and  wearied  not.  The  monster  he  suffered 
not  to  rest,  nor  did  he  rest  himself,  save  only  when 
Nature  commanded;  for  he  feared  disgrace,  if  haply 
should  he,  for  reason  of  sloth,  forego  his  task,  and 
the  monster  should  escape.  Therefore  he  went 
from  Court  to  city,  and  from  city  to  country,  and 
in  the  country  nothing  would  content  him  but  he 
must  search  in  every  farm.  On  a  day  while  he 
thus  urged  the  pursuit,  he  came  on  a  company  of 
shepherds  who  were  playing  on  pipes  and  singing 
country  ballads,  the  while  their  flocks  fed  near  them 
among  the  broom  bushes  with  their  flowers  of  gold. 
When  he  came  near  to  them  he  inquired  of  them 
whether  they  had  chanced  to  see  such  a  beast  as  he 
sought. 

They  answered  him:  "We  have  seen  none  such 
in  this  country,  nor  have  we  anything  that  threatens 
harm  to  us  or  to  our  flocks.  And  we  pray  to  the 
good  God  that  He  will  keep  such  creatures  far  from 

294 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  PASTORELLA        295 

US."  And  one  of  them,  perceiving  that  the  knight 
was  hot  and  weary,  offered  him  drink,  and  if  he 
chanced  to  be  hungry,  something  that  he  might  eat. 
This  courteous  offer  he  gladly  accepted,  and  sat 
him  down,  well  content  with  such  simple  fare  as 
suits  the  dweller  in  the  country.  When  he  had 
ended  his  meal  he  saw  a  fair  damsel  who  wore  a 
crown  of  flowers  tied  with  ribbons  of  silk,  being 
clad  in  a  gown  of  home-made  green  which  she  had 
worked  with  her  own  hands.  She  sat  on  a  little 
hillock  in  the  middle  of  the  company,  with  com- 
pany of  lovely  maids  about  her,  and  round  these 
again  was  a  ring  of  shepherds,  piping  and  singing 
the  praises  of  their  queen,  for  indeed  she  did  shine 
as  a  queen  in  the  midst  of  her  subjects.  Fair  of 
face  she  was  and  of  just  proportions,  and  com- 
mended her  beauty  to  all  beholders  by  the  modesty 
of  her  carriage.  There  was  not  one  in  the  place 
but  honoured,  and  not  a  few  sighed  for  her  in  love: 
but  she  had  no  liking  for  anyone. 

Greatly  did  Sir  CaHdore  admire  both  her  beauty 
and  her  carriage,  for  they  seemed  to  him  to  far 
excel  the  shepherd's  estate.  "Surely,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "this  may  be  a  princess  who.  thus  disguises 
her  high  condition."  And  even  while  he  thought 
the  thought  in  his  heart.  Love  took  him  unawares. 
So  he  sat  musing,  and,  for  a  while,  so  taken  was  his 
heart  with  this  new  thought,  forgot  the  chase. 

And  now  the  evening  was  come  and  it  behoved 
the  shepherds  to  fold  their  flocks.  So  there  came 
an   aged  sire,    Melibaeus   by   name,   who   was   com- 


296        OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   PASTORELLA 

monly  reputed  to  be  the  father  of  the  fair  maiden  — 
Pastorella  was  her  name.  So  indeed  it  was  be- 
lieved, but,  in  very  truth,  he  had  found  her  as  an 
infant  lying  in  an  open  field,  and  taking  her  home, 
had  brought  her  up  as  his  child,  for  child  of  his 
very  own  he  had  none.  The  old  man  said,  "Night 
falls,  and  we  must  fold  the  flocks."  Nor  was  there 
any  want  of  helpers  to  the  fair  Pastorella.  Many 
were  eager  to  manage  her  sheep,  and  none  more 
eager  than  Corydon. 

Then  Meliba^us,  seeing  how  Sir  Calidore  sat 
alone,  seeming  to  have  no  place  of  abode,  and  that 
night  was  now  near  at  hand,  said  to  him:  "Fair 
sir,  I  have  but  a  humble  cottage;  yet  is  this  a 
better  lodging  than  the  bare  field;  I  pray  you  to 
take  up  your  abode  with  me  this  night."  To  which 
Sir  Calidore  gladly  agreed,  for  indeed  there  was 
nothing  that  he  more  desired. 

A  hearty  welcome  did  the  old  man  and  his  wife 
accord  to  the  knight.  Shortly  after,  the ,  fair  Pasto- 
rella came  back  from  folding  her  flock,  and  they  all 
sat  down  to  sup  in  high  content,  and  had  much 
pleasant  talk  concerning  the  shepherd's  life,  the 
delights  of  which  old  Mehbaeus  set  forth.  "Let 
those  who  will  seek  after  honour  and  wealth  and 
the  good  things  of  this  world:  I  am  content  with 
what  I  have.  My  nights  I  spend  in  quiet  sleep,  my 
days  in  honest  toil.  I  take  good  care  that  the  fox 
shall  not  harm  my  lambs;  I  catch  birds  in  snares, 
and  fishers  with  hook  and  net.  When  I  am  weary, 
I  rest  my  limbs  under  the  green  tree;    when  I  am 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  PASTORELLA        297 

thirsty,  I  drink  of  the  brook.  Time  was  when  I 
was  [not  content  with  these  simple  things,  but  must 
raise  myself  above  my  fellows,  and  seek  fortune 
elsewhere.  So  I  left  my  home  and  betook  myself 
to  the  King's  Court,  and  worked  for  hire.  But  I 
perceived  that  in  this  life  there  was  vanity  and  dis- 
content; after  ten  years,  therefore,  had  passed,  I 
came  back  to  my  home  and  to  peace,  and  I  have 
learnt  to  love  it  daily  more  and  more."  While  the 
good  man  talked,  the  knight  was  well  content  to 
listen.  Much  he  Hked  to  hear  such  speech,  but 
more  to  look  at  the  fair  Pastorella. 

After  a  while  he  said  to  the  old  man,  "  Good 
father,  I  would  gladly  rest  awhile  in  this  peaceful 
place.  The  ship  of  my  life  has  of  late  been  greatly 
tossed  by  tempestuous  winds  and  in  stormy  seas. 
Let  it  therefore  find  haven  here,  and  I  meanwhile 
will  meditate  what  course  I  shall  follow  for  the  time 
to  come.  But  I  would  not  that  my  entertainment 
should  be  a  burden  to  you.  Your  simple  fare  and 
such  lodging  as  you  can  give  content  me  well;  but 
for  these  you  should  have  fair  guerdon."  So  saying 
he  drew  from  his  pouch  a  great  store  of  gold,  and 
would  have  the  old  man  take  it.  But  Melibaeus 
pushed  it  from  him. 

"I  desire  it  not,"  he  said;  "this  is  the  thing 
that  breeds  such  mischief  in  the  world.  But  if 
you  are  content  to  abide  here  and  lead  our  shep- 
herd's Hfe,  be  it  so;  I  am  well  content." 

So  Sir  Calidore  abode  in  the  old  man's  house, 
delighting  himself   with   the  daily   sight  of   the   fair 


298        OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  PASTORELLA 

Pastorella,  and  bearing  her  company  whenever  he 
could  find  excuse.  Very  high  courtesy  did  he  show 
to  the  maid;  but  she,  having  been  used  to  more 
lowly  things,  held  it  in  but  light  esteem.  This 
the  knight  did  not  fail  to  perceive.  So  he  doffed 
his  knightly  attire,  and  clad  himself  in  shepherd's 
dress,  and  laid  aside  his  spear  for  a  shepherd's 
crook.  One  had  thought  him  another  Paris  when 
for  OEnone's  sake  he  fed  her  flocks  on  the  Phrygian 
Ida.  So  did  the  shepherd  Calidore  go  day  by  day 
to  the  fields  with  Pastorella's  flock.  He  kept  watch 
against  the  wolf  while  the  maid  sported  and  played, 
and  at  even  —  such  is  the  might  of  love  —  he  would 
essay  to  help  in  the  milking  of  the  ewes. 

These  things  were  httle  to  the  Hking  of  Corydon, 
who  had  long  courted  the  maid.  He  wore  a  scowling 
face  and  would  complain  that  old  service  was  for- 
gotten, and  bore  himself  in  most  injurious  fashion. 
Calidore,  on  the  other  hand,  never  abated  one  jot 
of  his  usual  courtesy,  showing  no  sign  of  rancour 
or  offence,  but  rather  seeking,  as  it  seemed,  to  com- 
mend his  rival  to  the  good  opinion  of  the  maid.  So 
when  they  danced  to  the  piping  of  Colin  Clout,  and 
the  others  would  have  Calidore  lead  the  ring,  the 
knight  took  Corydon  and  set  him  in  his  place.  And 
when  Pastorella  took  the  garland  of  flowers  from 
her  head  and  set  it  on  CaHdore's,  he  again  put  it 
on  the  head  of  Corydon,  much  to  the  youth's  con- 
tent. Another  time,  when  the  shepherds  had  games 
and  contests  of  skill  and  strength,  the  prize  being 
a  garland  which  the  fair  Pastorella  had  twined  with 


OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND  PASTORELLA       299 

her  own  hands,  Corydon  stepped  into  the  ring  and 
challenged  the  knight  to  a  bout  of  wrestling.  He 
was  himself  well  skilled  in  the  art,  and  being  supple 
and  strong  sought  to  put  his  rival  to  open  shame. 
But  he  was  much  mistaken  in  his  man,  for  the  knight 
far  excelled  him  both  in  strength  and  in  skill,  and 
gave  him  such  a  fall  as  well-nigh  broke  his  neck. 
Nevertheless,  when  Pastorella  bestowed  on  him  the 
crown,  he  passed  it  to  Corydon,  saying  that  he  in 
truth  deserved  it  more,  and  that  he  had  prevailed 
by  fortune  rather  than  by  skill.  Thus  did  the 
knight,  so  courteous  was  he  and  large  of  heart, 
win  the  fair  maiden's  favour.  But  there  was 
nothing  which  advanced  him  more  than  that  which 
is  now  to  be  told. 

On  a  certain  day  when  these  three,  to  wit, 
Pastorella  and  Sir  Calidore  and  the  shepherd 
Corydon,  went  out  into  the  wood  to  gather  straw- 
berries, a  tiger  suddenly  rushed  out  from  a  thicket, 
and  with  wide  gaping  mouth  ran  at  the  maid.  She, 
seeing  herself  alone,  for  her  companions  chanced  to 
be  divided  from  her,  cried  aloud  for  succour.  And 
when  Corydon,  who  was  the  nearer  of  the  two, 
heard  the  cry,  he  ran  to  help  her.  But  when  he 
saw  how  fierce  a  beast  it  was  that  was  attacking 
her,  his  courage  failed  him,  and  he  fled,  putting 
his  life  before  his  love.  But  Calidore,  who  also 
had  heard  the  crying,  coming  not  far  behind,  when 
he  saw  the  tiger  and  the  maiden  held  in  his  claws, 
ran  at  the  beast  with  all  his  strength,  and  first 
striking  him  to  the  ground  with  such  a  blow  that 


300       OF  SIR  CALIDORE  AND   PASTORELLA 

the  creature  could  not  stand  under  it,  then  cut  off 
its.  head  and  laid  it  at  the  maiden's  feet.  Small 
wonder  is  it  that  she  gave  her  love  to  a  knight 
so  courteous  and  so  bold.  So  for  a  while  they 
abode  in  great  content,  save  that  Sir  Calidore  had 
put  out  of  his  mind  the  quest  on  which  he  was 
bound,  concerning  which  quest  he  had  sworn  to 
the  great  Queen  Gloriana  that  nothing  should 
hinder  him  from  it, 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE   END   OF   SIR   CALIDORE^S  ^QUEST 

IT  chanced  one  day  that  while  Sir  Calidore  was 
*  hunting  in  the  woods  —  it  pleased  him  more  to 
be  hunter  than  to  be  shepherd  —  a  company  of  law- 
less men  who  never  used  the  spade  or  plough,  but 
lived  by  the  spoiling  of  their  neighbours,  fell  upon 
the  shepherds'  village,  and  spoiled  their  houses  and 
drove  away  their  flocks.  Many  of  the  men  they 
slew,  "and  many  they  led  away  captives.  Among 
these  was  old  Melibaeus  and  the  fair  Pastorella  and 
also  Corydon.  These  the  brigands  carried  away  to 
an  island  where  they  dwelt,  a  close  place,  hidden 
with  great  woods  round  about,  meaning,  when 
occasion  offered,  to  sell  them  to  merchants  who 
dealt  in  such  wares. 

When  they  had  remained  in  ward  for  a  while  the 
captain  of  the  brigands,  seeing  Pastorella  how  fair 
she  was,  conceived  a  great  love  for  her,  and  when 
she  spake  him  fair,  would  have  had  her  marry  him. 
This  she  was  ill-content  to  do,  but  could  not  devise 
any  other  means  to  stay  his  importunities  than  to 
feign  a  sudden  sickness.  While  she  was  making 
this  pretence  there  came  to  the  island  a  company  of 
slave  merchants,  who,  inquiring  whether  there  were 

301 


302       THE  END  OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S  QUEST 

any  of  the  wares  in  which  they  dealt,  were  brought 
to  the  captain. 

"Sir,"  said  the  brigands  to  the  captain,  "here 
be  the  merchants;  'twould  be  well  that  all  the 
captives  whom  we  have  should  be  brought  out  and 
sold  for  such  a  price  as  may  be  agreed  upon,  and 
the  money  divided  in  equal  shares." 

To  this  the  captain  could  not  but  consent. 
The  captives,  therefore,  were  brought  forward, 
Melibaeus  and  Corydon  and  the  others,  and  the 
merchants  set  a  price  upon  them.  This  being 
finished,  said  one  of  the  brigands,  "There  is  yet 
another  captive,  a  very  fair  maid,  for  whom,  without 
doubt,  you  would  pay  much  money,  so  beautiful  is 
she  to  look  upon." 

"Nay,"  cried  the  captain,  "that  maid  is  not  for 
seUing.  She  is  my  wife,  nor  has  anyone  any 
concern  with  her.  She,  too,  is  now  so  wasted  and 
worn  with  sickness  that  no  one  would  be  willing  to 
pay  for  her  a  price,  however  small." 

So  he  took  them  to  the  chamber  where  she 
abode.  A  poor  place  it  was,  gloomy  and  dark,  and 
the  maiden  was  wasted  and  wan.  Nevertheless 
the  merchants  were  astonished  at  her  beauty. 
"The  others,"  said  their  spokesman,  "are  but  com- 
mon wares.  We  will  buy  them,  if  you  will,  but  on 
this  condition  only,  that  we  may  buy  this  maiden 
also."  And  he  named  for  her  a  price  of  a  thousand 
pieces  of  gold. 

The  captain's  wrath  was  much  moved  at  these 
words.    "My  love,"   he  cried,    "shall   not   be  sold. 


THE  END   OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S   QUEST      303 

With  the  others  you  may  do  as  you  will,  but  to  her 
I  hold/' 

"Nay,"  said  the  one  who  was  chief  among  the 
brigands,  "you  do  us  great  wrong.  We  have  our 
equal  share  in  her,  and  we  demand  that  she  be  sold 
with  the  rest." 

When  he  heard  this,  the  captain  drew  his  sword 
from  its  sheath,  and  shouted  that  anyone  who 
should  dare  lay  hands  on  her  should  straightway 
die.  On  this  there  followed  a  great  battle.  But 
first  they  slew  the  prisoners,  lest  haply  they  should 
turn  against  the  weaker  side.  Thus  did  old  Meli- 
baeus  die  and  with  him  many  others,  but  Corydon 
escaped.  This  being  done,  the  thieves  fought 
among  themselves;  and  soon  the  captain,  who  was 
ever  more  careful  of  Pastorella  than  of  his  own  life, 
was  slain,  and  she,  being  wounded  with  the  same 
stroke  by  which  he  was  bereft  of  life,  fell  upon  the 
ground,  being  hidden  under  a  pile  of  dead  bodies. 
The  captain  being  dead,  the  strife  of  which  he  was 
the  beginning  and  the  chief  cause  soon  came  to  an 
end.  The  brigands,  searching  among  the  dead, 
found  the  maid  still  lived,  though  sorely  wounded; 
they  gave  her,  therefore,  such  care  as  could  be 
found  in  so  rude  a  place. 

In  the  meanwhile  Corydon  had  made  his  way  to 
the  village  where  he  dwelt,  and  there  he  encountered 
the  knight,  who,  seeing  the  house  in  which  he  dwelt 
utterly  spoiled  and  void  of  all  inhabitants,  was  over- 
whelmed with  trouble  and  fear.  To  him  he  told  the 
story  of   how  he,  with  the  rest,  had  been  led  into 


304       THE  END  OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S  QUEST 

captivity,  and  how  the  brigands  had  fallen  out 
among  themselves,  and  how  the  captain  had  fought 
with  the  others,  and  had  been  slain,  and  with  him 
Pastorella,  for  so  the  shepherd  believed. 

For  a  while  Sir  Calidore  was  wholly  mastered  by 
his  grief.  Yet  coming  to  himself,  he  considered 
that  Corydon  had  not  seen  with  his  own  eyes  all 
that  he  had  told,  because  he  had  fled  away  before 
the  strife  had  so  much  as  begun;  and  so  hope, 
which  is  ever  hard  to  kill  in  the  hearts  of  men, 
sprang  up  within  him,  and  he  made  a  great  resolve 
that  he  would  find  her  if  she  yet  lived,  or  avenge 
her  if  she  had  died.  He  therefore  said  to  Corydon: 
**Come  now,  and  show  me  the  place  where  these 
brigands  dwell,''  which  thing  Corydon  was  at  the 
first  unwilling  to  do;  for  he  was  not  minded  to  run 
again  into  the  danger  from  which  he  had  escaped. 
Nevertheless  Sir  Calidore  so  wrought  upon  him 
that   he   consented    to   go. 

The  two  therefore  set  out  together  clad  in 
shepherd's  clothing,  and  carrying  each  a  shepherd's 
crook;  but  Sir  Calidore  had  donned  his  armour. 
After  a  while  they  saw  on  a  hill  which  was  not  far 
away  some  flocks  and  shepherds  tending  them,  and 
approached  them,  hoping  to  learn  something  about 
the  matter  with  which  they  were  concerned.  Then 
they  perceived  that  these  flocks  were  indeed  the 
same  as  the  brigands  had  driven  away,  for  Corydon 
knew  his  own  sheep  when  he  saw  them,  and  wept 
for  pity,  being  in  grievous  fear  because  he  perceived 
that  they  who  kept  them  were  none  other  than  the 


THE  END  OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S  QUEST      305 

brigands  themselves.  These,  however,  were  but  ill 
shepherds,  for  they  lay  fast  asleep.  Corydon  would 
have  had  Sir  Calidore  slay  them  as  they  slept. 
But  the  knight  hoped  that  he  might  gain  from  them 
some  tidings  of  her  whom  he  was  seeking.  So, 
waking  them  gently,  he  gave  them  courteous  greet- 
ing. And  when  the  brigands  would  know  who  he 
was,  he  answered  that  he  and  his  companion  were 
used  to  the  keeping  of  cattle  and  the  hke,  and  now, 
having  run  away  from  their  masters,  sought  to  find 
service  elsewhere. 

"Take  service  then  with  us,"  said  the  brigands, 
"for  this  work  is  not  to  our  Hking."  To  this  the 
two  agreed,  and  took  charge  accordingly. 

When  night  fell  the  brigands  took  them  to  the 
cave  where  they  dwelt.  There  Sir  Calidore  learnt 
many  things  which  he  desired  to  know,  and  chief 
of  all  that  Pastorella  was  yet  alive.  At  midnight, 
when  all  were  sleeping  sound.  Sir  Calidore,  fully 
armed,  for  he  had  found  a  sword,  though  but  of 
the  meanest  sort,  went  to  the  cave  wherein  dwelt 
the  new  captain  of  the  band.  It  was  indeed  barred, 
but  the  knight  soon  broke  down  the  bars,  and  when 
the  captain,  roused  by  the  noise,  came  running  to 
the  entrance,  slew  him.  Pastorella,  being  within, 
was  at  the  first  not  a  little  alarmed  at  this  new 
intruder,  yet  was  greatly  comforted  to  see  again 
her  own  lover,  and  he  also  was  overcome  with  joy, 
and  catching  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  most 
tenderly.  Meanwhile  th^  thieves  had  gathered 
together,   perceiving   that  some   new  danger   threat- 


3o6       rilE  END   OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S   QUEST 

ened  them.  But  Sir  Calidore,  standing  in  the 
opening,  slew  them  as  they  approached.  In  the 
end  he  utterly  vanquished  the  whole  company,  and 
spoiled  their  goods.  As  for  the  sheep,  he  gave 
them  as  a  gift  to  Corydon.  The  fair  Pastorella  he 
bestowed  in  the  house  of  a  certain  Sir  Bellamour 
and  the  lady  Claribell  his  wife. 

Now  must  be  told  the  true  name  and  lineage  of 
this  same  maiden  Pastorella.  Sir  Bellamour  in 
former  time  had  served  a  very  great  lord  of  those 
parts  who  had  one  daughter,  Claribell  by  name. 
This  same  lord  had  promised  her  in  marriage  to 
the  lord  of  Pictland,  which  was  the  neighbouring 
dominion,  thinking  that  the  two  domains  might 
thus  be  conveniently  joined  together.  Claribell 
meanwhile  loved  Sir,  Bellamour,  who  was  a  very 
gallant  knight.  So  fondly  did  she  love  him  that 
she  consented  to  a  secret  wedlock,  having  good 
hopes  that  her  father  might  relent.  But  when  he 
continued  to  be  hard  of  heart,  she  having  borne  a 
maiden  babe,  was  constrained  to  commit  the  child 
to  a  woman  who  waited  upon  her.  This  same 
woman,  taking  the  babe  into  the  field,  laid  it  under 
a  bush,  and  having  hidden  herself  hard  by,  waited 
to  see  what  should  happen,  for  she  trusted  that 
someone,  hearing  its  cry,  would  take  it  up.  But 
first  she  noted  that  it  had  on  its  breast  a  litde  spot 
of  purple  colour,  like  to  a  rosebud.  After  a  while 
the  shepherd  Melibaeus  passing  by,  heard  the  voice  ' 
of  the  babe,  and  taking  it  from  its  place,  carried  it 
home    to    his    wife,    who,    being    herself    childless, 


THE  END   OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S   QUEST      307 

gladly  took  it  in  charge,  and  reared  it  for  her  own. 
No  long  time  after  the  Lady  Claribell's  father  died 
and  left  to  her  all  that  he  had,  and  she  having  now 
no  cause  why  she  should  conceal  her  marriage,  took 
Sir  Bellamour  openly  for  her  husband,  and  had 
lived  with  him  in  great  content  until  the  coming  of 
Sir  Calidore  into  those  parts. 

And  now  Sir  Calidore  bethought  him  of  his 
quest,  that  he  must  not  delay  its  accompHshment 
any  longer,  and,  indeed,  he  feared  lest  he  should 
suffer  in  fame  because  he  had  put  it  aside  in  think- 
ing of  other  things.  Now,  therefore,  he  departed, 
leaving  Pastorella  in  the  charge  of  the  Lady 
Claribell,  the  same  undertaking  this  care  most 
willingly,  for  the  maid  was  fair  and  gracious,  and 
was  altogether  one  to  be  loved.  Sir  Bellamour  also, 
having  a  friendship  for  Sir  Cahdore,  with  whom 
he  had  served  the  Queen  Gloriana  in  time  past, 
was  glad  to  help  him  in  this  fashion. 

It  chanced  on  a  day  that  the  Lady  ClaribelPs 
waiting  woman,  Melissa  by  name,  being  the  same 
that  in  time  past  had  served  her  in  the  matter  of 
the  new-born  babe,  was  doing  service  to  the  fair 
Pastorella  in  the  matter  of  her  attire.  Being  so 
engaged,  she  spied  the  mark  on  her  bosom  and  said 
to  herself,  "Surely  this  is  the  very  mark  of  a  rose- 
bud that  I  saw  on  the  Lady  Claribell's  maiden  babe, 
and  the  years  of  her  age,  as  far  as  may  be  guessed, 
agree  thereto."  Having  this  in  her  mind,  she  ran 
straightway  to  the  lady,  her  mistress,  and  unfolded 
the  whole  matter,  how  she  had  noted  the  mark,  and 


3o8       THE  END   OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S   QUEST 

how  the  old  shepherd  had  taken  the  babe  from  the 
ground.  That  this  shepherd  and  his  wife  had  been 
as  father  and  mother  to  the  maiden  was  of  common 
knowledge.  Nor  did  the  Lady  Claribell  delay  to 
search  out  the  matter  with  her  own  eyes,  and,  being 
satisfied  that  this  was  indeed  her  very  child,  took 
her  to  herself  with  great  joy,  as  did  also  her 
husband,  Sir  Bellamour. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Calidore  pursued  the  Blatant 
Beast,  and  at  the  last  overtook  him.  The  monster, 
having  spoiled  all  the  other  places  in  the  realm,  was 
wasting  the  church,  robbing  the  chancel  and  fouling 
the  altar,  and  casting  down  all  the  goodly  orna- 
ments. When  he  saw  the  knight  he  fled,  knowing 
that  he  was  in  peril,  yet  could  he  not  escape.  In  a 
narrow  place  Sir  Calidore  overtook  him  and  com- 
pelled him  to  turn.  Sore  was  the  conflict  between 
these  two,  for  the  beast  ran  at  the  knight  with  open 
mouth,  set  with  a  double  range  of  iron  teeth, 
between  which  were  a  thousand  tongues  giving  out 
dreadful  cries  as  of  all  manner  of  beasts,  tongues 
of  serpents  also  spitting  out  poison,  and  of  all  other 
venomous  things  that  are  upon  the  earth.  Not  one 
whit  dismayed,  the  knight  ran  in  upon  him,  and 
when  the  monster  lifted  himself  up  on  his  hind  legs, 
and  would  have  rent  him  with  his  claws,  he  threw 
his  shield  between  and  held  him  down.  Vainly  did 
the  beast  rage  and  strive  to  lift  himself  from  the 
ground;  the  more  he  strove,  the  more  hardly  and 
heavily  did  the  knight  press  upon  him.  At  the  last, 
when   the   creature's   strength   now   failed    him,    the 


THE  END   OF  SIR  CALIDORE'S  QUEST      309 

knight  put  a  great  muzzle  of  iron  with  many  links 
in  his  mouth,  so  that  he  should  no  more  send  forth 
those  evil  voices.  And  to  the  muzzle  he  fastened 
a  long  chain  with  which  he  led  him,  he  following  as 
a  dog,  so  utterly  was  he  subdued.  Through  all 
Fairyland  he  led  him,  the  people  thronging  out 
of  their  towns  to  see  him,  and  much  admiring  the 
knight  who,  by  his  great  strength  and  valour,  had 
subdued  so  foul  and  fierce  a  creature. 

'Tis  true  that  in  after  days,  whether  by  some 
evil  chance  or  by  the  folly  of  those  who  had  charge 
of  the  monster,  these  bonds  were  broken;  for  even 
now  the  creature  wanders  about  the  world  doing 
great  harm  to  all  estates  of  men.  For  it  must  be 
known  that  his  name  is  Slander. 

But  in  the  good  times  of  old  it  was  not  so.  So 
did  Sir  Calidore  fulfil  his  quest.  And  afterwards 
he  lived  in  all  happiness,  as  became  so  brave  and 
loyal  a  knight,  with  his  wedded  wife,  the  fair 
Pastorella. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  | 

or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only:  .D 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  period  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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